Right or Easy
by razzle-dazzle-me
Summary: AU The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world ... only to find himself stranded in another.
1. Prologue

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**...Prologue...**

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

He stood, barely alive but with a shake of relief. It was over. Limping slightly, the Boy-Who-Lived waded through the mass of bodies, both friends and foes alike mingled and mattered, making his way back up to the broken castle, previously a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

...pppqqq...

Harry looked numbly around the office, heart thudding hard and jagged nails breaking through the palms of his hands.

The delicate silver instruments stood as they always had, neatly arranged on their spindle-legged tables. The walls lined in the same heavy volumes of books, an empty perch where Fawkes had once resided. Nothing had been changed since Dumbledores' death. The portraits hung in their respective spots, pictures of empty armchairs and ominous blank spaces. Harry frowned, thinking where and why the Headmasters and Headmistresses had retreated into hiding.

Even the portraits had left him.

Harry was, well and truly, completely and utterly alone.

He walked around to the front of the late Headmistress, Minerva McGonagalls', desk. He sat in the soft leather armchair, trailing his long and bloodied fingers along the shiny wooden surface.

Lord Voldemort had been defeated, but all else was lost.

Was it worth it?

What was the point in living when all the ones he had ever loved were dead?

Harry held his eyes shut for a moment, a hand moving to massage his throbbing temple. In the back of his mind he registered the complete stillness of his scar. An ironic smirk played across his lips. How he had longed, begged, and screamed for this peace just days earlier, but now... He really just didn't care any more.

Harry took a deep shuddered breath, searching back through his mind for the instructions his mentor had given him so many months before.

… … …

_A tapping had awoken him early that morning - far earlier than he'd have liked - before the sun had even risen. But the appearance of Fawkes at the windowsill, registered groggily through fast blinking eyes, had been enough to get Harry leaping out of bed with more enthusiasm than he'd found in months. _

_He opened the window as carefully as he could manage, and the Phoenix had merely swooped in, dropped a roll of tattered parchment, and left him as quickly as it could. _

_Trying not to feel too offended at the birds indifferent flight, Harry had picked up the paper and returned immediately to his warm bed. Fixing his glasses safely to his nose, he unrolled the letter slowly under the covers, and there was no great surprise to see the familiar thin, winding script. Who else was eccentric, potentious enough to assign a phoenix the work of an owl? _

_"Time travel is a very dangerous thing, Harry," it had read, and Harry could hear Dumbledores' voice swimming around his head, strict like it rarely had been. "We could only risk it if all else was lost... if there was not a glimmer of hope remaining..._

_"You'll be close now, so very close to the end. But I want to give you another option, Harry, not because I believe you will fail, but just as a fail-safe. Just in case circumstances take a turn for the worst, as they have of late as I write this to you._

… … …

Would he be going against Dumbledore by acting now? Voldemort was gone forever, yes, but little else had been gained.

Not a single magical life had been left innocent, unharmed or happy.

Harry knew he could do better, given the chance. He would not make the same mistakes again. This time, when the Light conquered, he would not be the sole survivor.

Harry would be cleverer. He would be braver. He would fight alone, and no-one would give their life to protect him.

For a moment Harry remembered that there were still a few good people left, who had not fought the night before, and he shouldn't be so selfish as to risk their wellbeing. But they had not been close to him, and as cold as it was, Harry did not care for them. All the people that did matter were gone, and that was what had brought him there now.

Pushing these thoughts away for another less painful time, Harry looked back down at the desk in front of him. What else was there to loose, really? His situation definitely could not get any worse now - he'd happily welcome death if the time-turner somehow managed to fuck up. Only his bloody luck would stoop to such levels.

Harry let out a groan of indecision, drumming his fingers on the soft wood, caught in a cloud of last minute jitters.

The option was so tempting, seemed so much like the right thing to do.

Without another seconds thought, before he could persuade himself otherwise, Harry opened the left hand draw of the desk to reveal a small golden pocket watch, just as Dumbledore had said there would be. He placed it in front of him with shaking breath, biting his lip to calm his nerves. He looked at the dial, carefully fixing the date to 1981. To the year that brought about his wretched destiny.

And before he could back out, Harry looped the chain over his head, careful not to bump his broken arm.

Pain seared through his body and Harry shut his eyes tight, unaware of the blurring colours and shapes rushing past him.

Then he passed out.

...pppqqq...

Harry opened his eyes to find himself lying on the hard stone floor of a small alleyway, rain lightly soaking through his tattered cloak. He pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning his back on the rough wall. There was blood on his hands, blood in his mouth and under his nails, blood absolutely everywhere he could bloody well see. Harry grinned - he had never felt so alive.

But what the hell was he doing there?

Then he remembered. The pain. The battle. The death. How could he ever forget?

Harry looked to his left, down into a bustling street. The small section he could see was oddly familiar, but it took a group of passing hags to make it click - Knockturn Alley.

Harry shuddered, finally remembering the time-turner. His stomach swam, and he couldn't stop the bitter chuckle of apprehensive excitement that escaped him.

He wondered why he wasn't still on Hogwarts grounds. Back in third year, when Hermione and himself had gone back, they had started in the hospital wing and ended up in the Entrance Hall. Maybe the amount of time Harry had skipped just brought him away further. Or maybe the time-turner brought you back to the place where your previous self was...

Harry shook his head, immediately regretting the action as a wave of nauseousness swept over him. Slowly, the Boy-Who-Lived stood. He drew the black cloak around him loosely, pulling the hood up to cover his face. He couldn't let himself be seen, or who knew what kind of trouble may ensue. After all, Harry had lost count of the times people had told him he was a mirror image of his father. Harry grinned at this, scrunching long bangs firmly over his scar. You wouldn't even notice the white lightning bolt if you didn't know it was there. At eighteen years of age, battle worn and ready to retire for life, Harry may finally get the chance to have his first real conversation with his dad. He could hardly wait.

Harry gritted his teeth, ignoring the growing pain in his arm, and sluggishly began to walk ahead. Limping slightly, the black clad figure emerged into the street, blending straight in to the gentle flow of people heading back to Diagon Alley.

The first thing Harry saw that he thought quite odd was the large boarded up windows of Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop. As far as he knew, Harry could not think of ever hearing that the famous joke shop had been closed, however temporarily. But, of course, he would be the last to admit himself knowing in the ways of 1981. The fluorescent bandannas and big frizzy hair of the eighties made him gag - what had they been thinking?

Still, a sick feeling knitted itself into his stomach then, planting a seed of doubt that grew tenfold as his eyes glazed over the Alley. A grumpy old witch behind him gave Harry a sharp jab as she pushed impatiently past.

Spotting an abandoned 'Daily Prophet' lying under a nearby bench, Harry quickly continued his way forward. As he came to the bench Harry retrieved the paper, absently making his way to Fortescue's. Old habits die hard.

That was when he stopped still again, gaping at the newspapers date with wide, disbelieving emerald eyes.

29th December, 1997.

That was the date of a year ago exactly, when Harry would have been in his seventh year at school, if he hadn't been otherwise occupied tracking down the Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione.

So, it hadn't worked at all. What was he meant to do now, in this time line? Scowling, he took a seat at one of the ice-cream parlour's lonely tables. The rain continued to drizzle down on him and Harry's scowl deepened.

But why was Gambol and Japes closed, when Harry knew it shouldn't be? And why was Fortescue's, that had closed in his sixth year, simply bubbling with lively business? Harry looked around the Alleyway, surprised anyone would even be outside at all, let alone that shops would be open, so soon after Dumbledores' death! As he had remembered it, most people should be afraid to step outside of their doorsteps. Harry leant back in his chair, the growing feeling of unease becoming unbearable.

A mop of dark red hair caught Harry's attention, reminding him instantly of one Ginerva Weasley. The petite, smiling woman stood alone outside the junk shop, her back to him, riffling though an old book bin. _Yes,_ Harry thought as he watched the older woman fondly. _She does remind me of Ginny._

Harry shut his eyes tight for a moment, controlling the roll of guilt and sickening sadness at the memory. Ginny...

Upon opening his eyes again Harry saw that the woman had turned around and was now talking to a tall man with bespectacled hazel eyes and dark messy hair. Just like Harry's. She left the tattered old books alone, linking her arm in her husbands and the pair made their way on in the direction of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The dark haired man laughed, wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and pointed around the corner to a desolate public toilet block. The red-haired woman hit him.

It was Harry's parents.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, quickly tasting the unmistakable rust of coppery blood run between his teeth. His parents were alive? How was that possible? _Where the fuck was he?_

Harry thought again of Gambol and Japes, Fortescue's, and the crowds that should not be there.

He was definitely in Britains Wizarding world.

Just a different one.

Harry groaned, sinking back into the plastic chair. Several people turned his way, then seeing his dark attire swiftly ignored him. He groped for the chain of Dumbledores' pocket watch (aka time-turner) around his neck. It was not there.

What the hell was he going to do now?

Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves, before stiffly getting up and following his parents. Still laughing, the pair strolled happily into the store, completely oblivious to the cloaked teenager quietly following their footprints.

Harry stopped at the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, staring fixedly at the newest model broomstick. His brow furrowed for a second - where Harry was sure there should have been a Firebolt III, lay a Cleansweep Surplus. _Exactly how different is this world I'm in?_

Warm laughter flowed towards him through the drizzle and Harry looked past the display into the shop. And nearly swallowed his tongue whole.

There stood Ronald Weasley, Harry's long dead best friend, talking excitedly to James Potter. Beside him was a boy Harry didn't recognise. He was tall, with a long nose and freckles, dark reddish-blond hair and sparkling hazel eyes like James'.

Harry drew in a deep breath, straining his hearing to reach into the store.

His father turned Ron to the back of the shop and the two gazed admiringly at a shelf of snitches. James looked back at the blond and beckoned him towards them. "Harry! Come over here."

The boy in question looked suddenly up at his dark-haired counterpart, narrowing his hazel eyes dangerously. Harry simply stared back, mouth agape, heart plummeting. Soon enough the blond made his way over to where his father and friend waited, barely concealing a shudder.

Harry's mind flooded him with thoughts. Was there a prophecy here?

Was this Harry Potter the boy who is destined to defeat the Dark Lord?

Harry blanched at another thought - it wouldn't be Neville, would it?

A bell to Harry's right signalled the store's door swinging open, and Harry glued his gaze back to the broomstick. He could feel the group moving further away from him, still mostly unknowing of his presence.

Harry stared at the display a while longer, a warm glow spreading through his body, gently easing his unexplainable fright. He couldn't get cold feet - there was no going back now, even if he wanted to. These were not his parents, not by any means. They belonged to a different world, where they were still alive and had a tall, lanky blond son called Harry. But under a different name, this was Harry's ultimate chance at a new life. A normal life, for the first time in seventeen years.

Here he did not exist.

He could travel, get a job, make new friends and reaquaint himself with old ones. Was Sirius alive here? And Remus? Snape? Ginny? Hermione?

If Ron and his parents were, Harry thought there was a fair chance everyone else would be.

They didn't know this Harry Potter, but maybe that was for the better. There would be no past, no baggage. No-one to judge him before he'd opened his mouth, or believe they were head over heels in love with him at a glance to his scar. No terrible magazine articles or snide, jealous hatred.

No friends or family to die in his hands, because he was the one that had to live.

Harry pushed this thought away, concentrating on this new life that was already blossoming before his very eyes.

It was almost everything he could ever wish for. The people of this world were most probably different from the ones Harry knew, but now they could get to know Harry all over again. The real Harry. The true Harry.

Two young boys moved to stand next to him, goggling excitedly at the broomstick. Resolving to make his way to some place he could rest and heal, Harry left the display, heading back down the alley towards muggle London. Passing past Fortescue's again Harry smiled as he recognised yet another wizard, this one with perfectly curled hair and expensive scarlet robes.

The bright smile of Gilderoy Lockhart faltered as he spotted Harry headed towards him, and he turned his attention back to the double-fudge Sunday and massive bag of fan mail seated next to him.

Harry smirked under his cloak, eyeing Gilderoy's bulging money sack nestled snug in his robes.

Harry almost laughed to himself at the unlikeliness of the situation, the plan already within full swing of his mind. Walking faster, he headed closer to Lockhart, tripping neatly over a loose pebble and knocking the double-fudge Sunday all over his once-professors' immaculate robes.

Lockhart yelped in terror, jumping up to his feet and further smearing the runny ice-cream. His beautiful eyes locked on Harry for a moment, his mouth open to start yelling. Instead a squeak emerged from his throat and he backed fearfully away, tripping over his own chair and falling flat on his bottom.

Harry patted the heavy money sack now hidden in his own cloak and reached a hand down to Lockhart. He smiled, although no-one could see from under his hood. "I'm so sorry, Lockhart isn't it?"

Gilderoy's chin wobbled and he took Harry's offered hand, rising slowly from the ground.

"It's an absolute honour to meet you," Harry lied.

Lockhart's cheeks flushed and a quick look around them to count the onlookers gave him courage enough to answer. "Oh, yes... of c c course."

Harry shook the hand he still held, holding his head high. "I'm so sorry for the spill," he gestured to Gilderoy's robes.

Lockhart saw this as a wonderful opportunity to show the public how kind and generous he really was. "Oh no, don't worry at all." He flashed the crowd his multi-award winning smile.

Harry laughed quietly, slowly backing away. "Alright then, if you're ok."

Gilderoy laughed too, turning to address the onlookers. "Actually, I was just reading some fan mail! Anyone have a book handy for a free signing?"

Harry snickered, continuing on his way to the Leaky Cauldron. He stopped shortly at a potion store, purchasing a pain killer drought and 'Beatrice's Bone Blunder Fix'.

He reached the shadowed Inn just as the rain stopped. Entering, Harry found it much the same as it had been lately in his world - disserted. Tom stood at the bar, talking in a hushed voice to a vampire, the single customer.

Smoothly Harry talked to Tom, acquiring a room for the night. It was just down the hall from where Harry had stayed in his third year. When Tom left him, Harry drowned the potions and ran himself a much needed bath. Feeling fresh, revived and exhausted, he shut the curtains and retired to the large welcoming bed. Finally closing his eyes Harry willed sleep to come, but thoughts, prospects and possibilities overwhelmed him.

For a while he simply lay there, tossing from side to side, before finally giving up on sleep. He reached for the newspaper he had dropped before, flicking quickly through the pages. Nearing the end of the employment section, Rita Skeeters' name caught his eye.

… … …

_Divination Professor; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Article by Prophet Journalist, Rita Skeeter_

_Since the school year began on September First, students attending Britains most highly esteemed school, Hogwarts, have once again been forced to retain knowledge of the worthy subject 'Divination' through dull textbook readings. _

_With Professor Caroline Stickcal's mysterious death earlier this year the position has remained vacant through the first term. Rumours have begun to spread of the job leading to dark and unfortunate deaths to its occupant, which may be a factor in why the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is unable to find a teacher for the position. _

_Another reason, perhaps is that the elderly Dumbledore, (one hundred and sixty two this February), has finally bitten off more than he can chew - what with the increasing number of Death Eater attacks drawing his attention away from his duty and foremost obligation as Headmaster. Is the most powerful wizard battling for the light putting too much concentration to extra-curricular activities? Is it time for the Ministry to step in, or do you believe it appropriate for our youth to continually be underprivileged in this important role of their lives?_

_Any witch or wizard, with a standard knowledge in the field of Divination, wishing to apply for the haunted position is asked to owl the Headmaster as fast as he or she can._

… … …

Harry frowned, dropping the newspaper to the floor beside him. How long had this Professor Stickcal been teaching? And had Trelawney taught before her? If Dumbledore never met with Professor Trelawney for the Divination position, then maybe she would never have made the prophecy. But then, someone else might have.

If there was another prophecy here, (stating a person from this dimension was to be the Dark Lords' downfall), then it wouldn't be Harry's obligation to fulfil it at all. Even if he had the power and knowledge, which he certainly did to defeat his Voldemort. On the other hand, if there was no prophecy, then this world might simply be tragically doomed to the fall of Light.

And Harry could play the hero again, if he wanted to. But did he?

The earlier thought of a 'normal' life slowly dispersed and left Harry with the familiar weight he had obediently carried for the last three years.

However, there was no way anyone here would know he possessed the means to vanquish Voldemort, so he shouldn't feel it was his duty to do so. He had, after all, already killed the Dark Lord.

In this world Voldemort was alive and looming, as earlier articles in the paper made clear. But this Harry, as the Boy-Who-Lived, did not exist.

Harry pulled a pillow over his head, snuggling deep under the covers of the four-poster bed. He thought of the Divination position and his current money situation. Maybe he'd write to Dumbledore in the morning...

Finally sleep overtook him and Harry smiled, dreaming of a big, shaggy grim.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Edited (2nd/8th/o6). Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated :)


	2. The Boy Who Will Save Us

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**...Chapter One...**

The-Boy-Who-Will-Save-Us

… … …

There is always more than one choice, a different road to take. One moment, one thought, one small seemingly insignificant decision. When Lily Potter could have conceived in November, she did not until December. Harry was born in August.

The Potter family never went under the Fidelius charm and Sirius Black never went to Azkaban. Peter Pettigrew still roams the underground, dividing his attention between both light and dark. Waiting, as always, for an opportunity to strike. Voldemort is at large, having never been defeated, as savage and evil as ever. The world goes on...

And Neville Longbottom, you ask?

… … …

Freshly shaven, clean and in comfortable new robes, Harry waited impatiently at a table in the Three Broomsticks for his old Headmaster to arrive. He played with the salt shaker in front of him, spinning it around in circles. Every few seconds his green eyes would flick to the clock hanging above the bar where Rosmerta was glancing at him wearily.

A light bell chimed, and Harry looked to the door to see Albus Dumbledore appear, frost speckled down his ridiculously long beard. Harry had to blink twice, the clashing guava and mandarin colored robes sending spots to dance before his sight. The old man walked first to the counter and chattered with Rosmerta for a moment. She pointed him in the direction of Harry and Dumbledore strolled over, cradling a large mug of butterbeer in his long fingers.

"Mr Evans?" Dumbledore greeted him, looking Harry over.

Harry's heart stopped cold at the sound of his voice, but he looked up at the should-be-ghost and smiled, holding out his hand to shake the one offered. "Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled back, seating himself opposite the younger man. "Just Albus is fine, thankyou."

"So long as Hadi is fine with you," Harry watched as Albus' features relaxed slightly. Hadi Evans had been Harry's code name within the members of the Order, despite his protests at something so totally cliche. Harry had thought it awfully corny at the time, Hadi meaning 'guiding to the light', but it was a name he knew well and it was his friends that had given it to him.

"I must be honest with you then, Hadi," Albus paused to take a small sip of his butterbeer. "I was planning on cancelling the subject of Divination altogether."

Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to keep his face straight. To think that he'd ever see Albus again, alive and whole. A shiver crept down his spine at the utter unnaturalness of the situation. "That would be a shame, I do believe Divination has been taught at Hogwarts since the school was created. Regardless of its magical accuracy."

"And what school did you attend?" Albus leaned back in his chair, his magic reaching into Harry's mind to find it powerfully blocked. "Your accent is British."

"Yes," Harry had planned the story of his life out that morning, even though he doubted if he could fool The Great Fooler Himself, Albus Dumbledore. "I grew up in Italy and attended a small magical school there, but I've been visiting London all my life. My English teacher was British."

"And how old are you?" Dumbledore asked politely, taking another small sip.

"Twenty-one."

"You look younger - "

"And I'll take that as a compliment." Harry laughed into his Gillywater.

"Can you prove your skills in Divination?"

Harry observed Dumbledore for a moment, happy to see he'd mostly kept the doubt invisible. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course, Harry had never possessed even the slightest hint of skill in the subject. But Dumbledore didn't know that and there were many things Harry knew about this man he probably shouldn't. Harry could be a good actor when he wanted to be.

"You're greatly troubled," Harry dropped the smile off his lips and met Albus' eyes squarely, his voice quivering theatrically, laced in sarcastic melodrama. "And there are only worse times ahead. Much worse than you could ever imagine."

Albus tensed for a moment, then looked away quickly to hide his silent chuckle.

"Of course," Harry continued, "anyone could have told you that." He rummaged in his pocket for a moment, producing a pair of red socks. Little green dragons flew around them in patterns, breathing a fire that was sure to warm your toes. Harry passed them across to Dumbledore, smiling again. "Call it a late Christmas gift."

Albus' eyes twinkled beneath his half-moon spectacles, his only sign of recognition. It was all Harry needed, but he felt he should push it. "I saw them and thought of you. And, of course, socks are the ideal present."

Dumbledore gave another tight smile. "And why is that?"

"You can never have enough socks." Harry snickered.

"Indeed," Albus agreed, leaning back in his chair and thinking the young man over.

Harry knew the interview was finished, although they'd hardly been talking for five minutes. Under the Headmaster's heavy scrutiny, Harry felt his queasy uneasiness from the day before resurface. He suddenly had an unbearable desire to get out, to leave. "I can await an owl, if you'd like. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron."

Dumbledore waved the query away. "No need, Hadi. I'd be a fool to turn you down." His light blue eyes stared hard at Harry for a moment longer. "I have a feeling about you, Mr Evans."

"Ah!" Harry threw his hands in the air. "So you posses the inner eye too?"

Dumbledore laughed. "You remind me of a previous Professor that taught here."

Harry again raised an eyebrow. "And who is that?"

"Sybill Trelawney." Dumbledore's smile faltered. "Was that."

Harry's heart sank. "Was?"

"She died," Albus rubbed his temple, "a few years ago."

"Oh," Harry turned his gaze downwards, fighting his own memory of the Divination Professors' death. Her wondering insane soul, drained of all life force and personality, innocent subject to the Dementors Kiss. "That's terrible."

"Hmm," Dumbledore drained the last of his mug. "Thank you for the socks."

"It's a pleasure."

They both stood and walked to the exit together. Dumbledore thanked Rosmerta and they stepped outside into the freezing cold wind.

"School starts in three days," Dumbledore said, turning to face him. "Can you come in tomorrow, meet the other staff and settle into your quarters?"

"That'd be great." Harry smiled, and with a last wave and a crack Dumbledore apparated away. Harry wondered fleetingly for a moment if he'd gone to Grimmald Place, or an Order meeting, or perhaps even Godric's Hollow. Shaking the thoughts of Sirius and his parents away for the time being, Harry settled into a leisurely pace to re-explore Hogsmeade.

...pppqqq...

_Moody,_

_I've just given the Divination job to a young man under the name of Hadi Evans, claiming to be Italian. He seemed weary around me, almost incredulous. Would you do a background check? I don't trust him._

_Sincerely,_

_AD._

...pppqqq...

When he could waste away his time no longer, Harry found himself standing outside the shabby little library. He had never been into 'Hogsmeade's Hogsreads', always getting his books from Hogwarts and later Diagon Alley. Hermione had been there a few times when Ron and himself had stayed too long in Zonkos, but Harry had only ever walked past the old library.

But if he were to build a new life for himself, he would need to get a few basic facts straight. Like the fate of a dear friend, Neville Longbottom.

A frog croaked as he entered the store, but other than that no acknowledgment to his presence was made. The library consisted of rows upon rows of shelves, all reaching up higher than should be possible. An empty counter to the left side and a set of spotty couches, armchairs and oak tables to the right.

Harry made his way quickly past the vast range novels to the history section, marked out with a large sign in elegant, cursive writing.

His emerald eyes skimmed over the spines of the books, looking for the most recent additions to the collection. Content with the pile he held in his arms, Harry sat himself on a musty, dusty old couch. It seemed (and smelled like) no-one had ventured to the seat in quite a long period.

The first book, "Modern Hero's in Today's Times", Harry knew to have four chapters dedicated to mysterious speculations surrounding The-Boy-Who-Lived. He closed his eyes a moment, sending a quick prayer for Neville's well being.

The round, smiling face of a seventeen year old Neville Frank Longbottom smiled up at him on page thirty four, just as Harry's did in his world. Below the picture was a prophecy Harry knew far too well, though it had certainly never been a public release, and a short, precise article.

_Neville Longbottom: The-Boy-Who-Will-Save-Us_

_Destiny laid it's hand on Mr Longbottom at a young age, but the prophesied wizarding Hope is yet to ever let us down. Being the only magical child born in July of the year the prophecy was made, the fate of the world rests in his hands to defeat the Dark Lord, namely one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who._

_Since the prophecy was released world wide, the Longbottom's have been in hiding (rumoured under the Fidelius charm) and successfully remain to this day out of evils clutch. However, as his eleventh birthday came and went, Neville left the security of his childhood home to attend the famed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as have all the Longbottoms' in their long line of pureblood heredity._

_Neville is currently seventeen, a proud Gryffindor (much to everyone's delight) and enjoys Herbology, Bingo and watching Quidditch. Next year he intends to enrol in Auror training, following in his loving fathers footsteps._

_There have been..._

"Can I help you there?"

Harry jumped, snapping the book shut. In front of him stood a tiny, elderly witch with white curly hair and deep burgundy coloured robes.

"Would you like to borrow those, Sir?" she smiled down at him, showing ugly crooked yellow teeth.

"Er," Harry glanced outside to see the rain drizzle down, his good mood long past. "Yes, thankyou."

The witch beamed at him, probably the first customer she'd had in years and performed a quick lendoser charm on the books. Harry got out of there as fast as he could.

...pppqqq...

Harry retreated into Honeydukes as the rain turned from a drizzle to a steady downpour, books shrunk and feather light in his pocket, the last remaining snow melting to brown-grey slush. Harry shrugged his shoulders in his wet cloak, making small puddles around him. His hair hung in tangled stands across his face, small drops of water clinging to his glasses.

The sweet shop was much the same as he remembered it, the only large difference being the pretty black-haired witch at the counter. Harry gave a start as he realised it was Cho Chang smiling up at him.

Harry gave her a weak smile back, then quickly broke the eye contact and hid up the front of the shop, furthest away from the witch. It really wasn't like Harry to hold grudges, but Cho was his one exception. Fifth year had been hard and she had not made it any easier. But, Harry reminded himself, this is a completely different Cho. _I've never met her before, after all._

"I've never met you before."

Harry jumped again, not realising that his first though-to-be-loved one had crept up behind him. "No, I'm new here," Harry explained slowly, eyes lingered over her casual blue robes, the amicable curvy figure easily showing through.

"Where are you from?" Cho Leant back against a shelf of Chocolate Frogs, eyeing Harry up and down.

"Italy," Harry smiled, "I've just got the Divination job at Hogwarts."

"Oh, that's great! Congratulations" Cho smiled back. "I'm Cho Chang, I just finished with Hogwarts last year."

Harry held out his hand, Cho taking it in her own quickly. "Hadi Evans. It's great to meet you."

"You look very young to be a Professor." Cho held onto his hand, her eyes blinking at the unusual brightness of his own brilliant green ones.

Harry groaned, breaking their hands apart. "I'm twenty one, and that's the second time I've been told that today."

Cho laughed playfully. "Well, you're not much older than me then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So what's a clever girl like you doing working here?"

Cho tossed her long black hair over her shoulder, rolling her eyes back at him. "I'm saving up for a year before I go travelling. I didn't think it was right to get a proper job, like at the ministry, if I'd only be leaving in a year."

"Very noble of you," Harry leant back on the shelf opposite her, criticizing the differences the women before him bore to his memory. She was chattier, happier - certainly more forward.

"Well, in case you haven't heard," Cho smirked, "London is hardly safe nowadays. Everyone is moving away."

Harry frowned, but didn't reply. What could he say to that?

"You must have divination powers to have got the job at Hogwarts," Cho licked her lips, drawing his attention to them. "Can you tell me my future?"

Harry wiltered. It had been a while since he'd had a proper girlfriend-boyfriend relationship, and long since he had felt any desire to build one. Infact, Harry thought with a small jab of guilt, the last girl he had properly dated had been Ginny, followed by a continuous round of one nighters. Still, looking at Cho then, Harry couldn't help the lust that began to grow, to beat in the pit of his stomach. This was Harry's new start at life and if Ginny was a student here at Hogwarts then he could hardly start something up with her anytime soon - that would be awfully inappropriate. His Ginny was long gone, and the sooner he got that into his head, the better. Even if there was another Ginny living just miles away.

"Give me your hand back," Harry took Cho's manicured nails and turned her hand palm up, massaging the creases and pressure points. Slowly he turned her hand the other way and brought it up to press against his lips.

"I see us having dinner together," Harry looked back at her blushing cheeks. "What do you think of that?"

"I'd love to," Cho laughed.

"Good," Harry dropped her hand as another thought came to his mind. "You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"

"Oh no," Cho snorted. "I went out with this idiot, Cedric Diggory, for ages during school time, but we broke up before graduation."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why did you break up, can I ask?"

Cho waved his question away. "He got on my nerves."

Why did Cho always suck him in like this? All that crap she went through in his world because 'the love of her life' had died, but if he hadn't they wouldn't have lasted anyway!

Harry looked a bit flustered for a moment before he could carefully hid it. "When do you finish up here?"

Cho looked at the large jellybean shaped clock against the far wall. "It's another hour before closing time at six, but seeing as the weathers just turned wet I don't think anyone will be out." Cho looked him up and down again, excited to be spending an evening with such an intriguing person. He was undoubtabley good looking, but there was something else about him too. The power radiating around him, or perhaps the clashing black hair, green eyes and deathly pale skin.

"I'll just get my bag," Cho turned around, bouncing on her heels to the counter.

Harry took a deep breath, wondering if he was right in pursuing her - a mere distraction to take his mind off of Neville, off his parents and off the entirety of this thrilling Brave New World. But, it was only dinner after all and he was quite lonely - he hated to eat by himself. Yes, it was selfish, but Cho was hardly complaining.

A moment later the shop was closed and Cho was leading Harry by his hand to a romantic French restaurant down closer to the village. Harry vaguely remembered going there once with Ginny, perhaps it was for someone's birthday, and with a slight sinking he realized the prices would clear him straight out from Gilderoy's bag.

But while his new account at Gringotts was fresh and empty, tomorrow he was starting a good job with reasonable pay. He'd make it work, anyhow.

Cho wasn't quite as he remembered, but Harry was no longer the infatuated fifth year that sat googling opposite her. Sure, she was gorgeous and smart, but that didn't make her incredibly interesting. Dinner went by quickly and Harry easily managed to brush all questions off concerning his past. It was a big help that Chos' favourite conversational piece was herself.

By the time it got late enough to depart Harry was mentally exhausted. Cho looked very pleased with herself as Harry opened the door for her and put his arm around her shoulders, warming her against the bitter wind that had started up. Winter in Britain could be nasty.

"I've had such a great time tonight, Hadi." Cho's arm crept over to rest on his waist. "I hope we can catch up again soon, but I suppose you'll be too busy with your new job and everything," she pouted, looking up into his eyes.

"Sure we can meet up again," Harry smiled down at her. "I'll owl you."

"Promise?"

Harry inwardly groaned. Why did he always have to be the damn gentleman? "Of course I will."

"Where are you staying?" Cho held her breath as he answered.

"The Leaky Cauldron. You live here in Hogsmeade?"

Cho nodded, looking down at their feet. "I have a flat here. I'm sharing with a friend, but she's out tonight."

"I'll walk you home then." Harry's hand slid down to rest on her hip and he pulled her closer, the unspoken invitation quickly accepted. Yes, his courtesy did pay off every now and then. He supposed it was worth it.

She grinned up at him. "Thanks."

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Thanks again for reading! Just incase anyone didn't get it before - Harry tried to go back in time, but wound up in an alternate universe instead.


	3. Only Tomorrow

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**...Chapter Two...**

**Only Tomorrow**

… … …

It was completely dark all around him. Pitch black. Death black. Quiet and eerie. Harry tried to make out the shape of Tonks, where he knew she stood next to him, but not even an outline was recognizable in the nightmarish light. All they could do was wait. Harry knelt on the damp ground, taking a moment to calm himself. His breath hung in rising spirals of steam.

That was when the screaming started.

The piercing, heart pumping wails of a draining human life, already given in to defeat. To death.

No-one ever really appreciated the risks Severus Snape ran each waking moment, the thin paths he crossed and the courage it took to do so. The lives he saved and the hated, prejudice branding he was rewarded with. Certainly, Harry Potter would always hate him - there was no going back on that. But somehow Voldemort knew he was the leak, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Harry never saw Severus die. Truth be told, no matter to his allegiance, Harry did not particularly care.

But he heard him. And he remembered.

Every time he closed his eyes.

… … …

He awoke, sweat soaked and panicked, to a room he didn't know and yet another unfamiliar ceiling - this had always been a reoccurring event in Harry's life, and one he had never fancied. With a jolt Harry realized Cho was lying in his arms and he quietly got up, disentangling their bodies. A glance at the watermelon green and pink colored alarm clock told him it was four o'clock in the morning.

Harry had always had problems sleeping. The muggles would have called it insomnia, but the nightmares ran far deeper than that. They were real. They had happened.

Picking up his clothes from the floor Harry turned back for a moment, admiring Cho a last time. There was the briefest shadow of a smile on his face as he apparated back to his room in the Leaky Cauldron, Severus Snape temporarily forgotten.

...pppqqq...

Harry criticised his work at transfiguring the bar of soap into a trunk. Sure, the only possessions he currently owned were five borrowed library books, a two day old newspaper, the key to his Gringotts account and the tatty, blood soaked robes he had worn from his old life. But he still needed a trunk, it wouldn't do for him to show up to his new job with nothing other than the clothes on his back. There wasn't even the need to put a feather light charm on the soap scented luggage.

With a thanks to Tom at the bar, Harry held tight to the trunk and apparated for the second time that morning, arriving with a crack to the front gates of Hogwarts.

He hadn't reckoned on the rush of emotions that overtook him then as Harry looked up at the castle and across the grounds; nostalgia, remorse and the enlightened burning for revenge. He was reminded guiltily of the reasons behind his travel - to right the wrongs of the world, to save the ones he loved and the ones that he didn't. The best and worst times of his life had been experienced here, in this castle. But again Harry postponed dealing with the pushing memories, reasoning that now was not the best time to relive the final battle. Not yet.

Levitating his trunk to float behind him, Harry walked quickly past the closed Quidditch pitch, around the lake and up the front steps into the Entrance Hall. He paused there a moment, looking at the four giant hour-glasses. Slytherin was in the lead, as Harry was all too familiar with, Ravenclaw came a close second and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff battled it out for third. Harry sniggered. He'd make it a high priority to help his old team out now, for the first time ever having the privilege to dish out and take away house points. He couldn't wait to see Malfoy's face.

A crack sounded to his right and Harry spun around, staring down at a house elf, tennis-ball eyes goggling up at him in wonder. "Master Dumbledore," the elf trembled, "asks me to direct new master -Master Evans- to the staff room." He tugged uncertainly on his rag-clothes. "You is Master Evans, Sir?"

Harry smiled, yet determined not to think of Hermione. _It was just another stupid house elf._ "Yes, that's me."

"I'is will take you to staff room," the house elf turned away.

"No," Harry put his trunk back on the ground with a flick of his wand, "I can find my own way there, thankyou."

The house elf looked displeased, obviously not wanting to discredit his Master Dumbledore.

Harry pushed his trunk forward, creating a new task for the elf. "Would you take this luggage to my new quarters?"

"Yes, of course Master Evans - "

"Thanks," Harry interrupted. He gave the house elf another smile, striding past the Great Hall and down the corridor.

A last _pop_ behind him told Harry the elf was serving his request.

Harry stopped again when he came to the staircase that would lead up to the Gryffindor common room and the first bout of nerves washed over. What on earth was he doing here? How could he possibly be qualified to teach (no matter how basic the subject) when he hadn't even finished his last year of schooling?

Give Harry a Dark Lord any day, but when it came to Divination he was worse than clueless. How was it he always found himself in these impossible situations? Alright, Harry reasoned, so he needed the money. And he had no idea what to do with himself and his normal new life - the position had seemed a good way he could innocently be introduced to his old friends. But he hadn't needed to be so drastic as to declare himself a Professor! All resolve trickled away as Harry continued on his path, far too quickly finding himself in front of a very intimidating staffroom door.

The faint chatter echoed through the hallway and Harry took a last moment to put his confident mask on. He couldn't exactly back out now! Harry did after all have the upper hand here too; no-one knew that he was full of crap and they never needed to. He would show them a talented, self-assured young man and they need not ever be the wiser.

Before he could chicken out Harry turned the cold brass knob, swinging the door open. The chatter stopped around the large panelled room, the familiar teachers seated in the dark wooden chairs surrounding the walls.

"Ah, Mr Evans!" Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, seeing straight through Harry's air. "Please, have a seat."

Harry smiled back at the Headmaster, closing the door behind him. As he turned the frail figure of Remus Lupin caught his eye. So, his fathers friend was teaching at Hogwarts too. Thank Merlin, Harry thought, or else he might be spending the rest of the year with only Snape and McGonagall to talk to - and neither were precisely chatty material.

Harry took a seat next to Hagrid (stubbornly closing his mind to all reminiscent thoughts) and Albus began introducing him, for the first time, to teachers Harry had known well for the past eight years.

Harry smiled at each in turn, especially as Remus was declared Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. At the very least Harry's friends in this world could be better prepared than in his.

Dumbledore finished and they continued the staff meeting. "As I'm sure you've all heard, there have been several attacks during the holiday break." Albus sighed, dejected. "Both the Patil and Greensgrove children have been orphaned. Now more than ever before, the students will need our protection and support. They need to know that Hogwarts is still the safest place to be.

"Which brings us to the Sorting Hats continued warnings," Dumbledore looked at Harry, explaining. "As the first year students have been sorted the last few years we have been repeatedly told, by the hat, of the importance to unite the four houses."

Harry nodded in understanding. Of course, he remembered that from his fifth year.

"I've had an idea," said Madam Hooch, perking up in her seat. "Many of the younger students might be influenced by our own interaction. They often look to their Heads of Houses much like second parents - "

"You're point is?" Severus snapped loudly, obviously not liking where her speech was headed.

Madam Hooch ignored him, continuing, "I thought it might be nice to have a staff Quidditch match. To show the student body how great we can all get along!"

She was met by a thick, oppressed silence. "What do you think, Hadi?" Obviously Hooch thought she could get support from the fresh meat, being too new to not agree.

"Er..." Harry began, honestly not knowing what the hell to think of this idea. _A staff Quidditch match?.._ He supposed it could work - it certainly might give him the chance to get on a broom again, in front of an appreciative crowd.

"Can you See it happening?" Snape asked, his sneer as nasty as he could master - which was damn well horrid.

Harry folded his arms, glaring at his old Potions Professor. "Sure. If you really want to, I believe you can make anything happen."

"How diplomatic." It seemed Snape would always be out to get him, this time merely for being the Divination Professor.

Harry drew in a deep breath, raking his brain for anything to add. "At my old school there was a duelling club for a while, taught by the Defence department. If you're looking for ways to combine the houses, that could be a start."

"I could certainly organise it," Remus said thoughtfully.

"Great," Dumbledore smiled. "Anything else?"

Again, the teachers were silent.

"So, we come to our final matter," Albus leaned forward in his chair, long fingers entwined on his knee. "Hogwarts may very well be Voldemorts'," he paused for the flinches to subside, "next place of attack. In case such an occurrence does happen, Merlin forbid it should, we must be prepared. Our first priority is of course the children, who in the case of any danger should be brought straight to the Great Hall. To signal that an attack is taking place, you must do this - "

Dumbledore held his wand in the air to demonstrate. "Alarmiousa."

Instantly a very loud siren went off, Harry presuming in every room of the castle.

"Finicio."

The siren stopped and McGonagall removed her hands from where they had been clasped firmly over her ears.

"When that alarm goes off it is our signal to make your way to the hall, where we will effectively defend and fight. The Prefects of each house will be briefed on these directions and will then pass it on to the other students."

Albus ended the depressing silence that had befallen the staff with his usual tightlipped smile. "But of course, we will pray that this siren may never deafen our poor ears again. And unless anyone has anything to add, I'm sure you all have many things to do."

Slowly the staff got up and departed, the last dregs of tea finished.

"Now, shall we call a house elf to show you to your rooms?" Dumbledore turned to Harry. "It's quite easy to get lost in the castle, although I'm sure you'll get used to it in good time."

"No, it's alright." Harry stood, heading to the door. He could barely controlled the snigger as he added, specifically turning to Snape, "I know the way."

...pppqqq...

"Three galleons says we find him tomorrow in the Astronomy tower."

"Now Severus," Remus snickered, "I didn't put you as one to discredit the power of Divination."

Minerva snorted.

The last remaining teachers; McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, Flitwick and Dumbledore finally had the staffroom to themselves.

"I quite liked him," Professor Flitwick piped up.

"He's too young. The students will walk all over him," Minerva sighed, pouring herself another cup of tea.

"I don't know about that," Remus pondered, "I'll bet he can be frightening when he wishes. Power was simply oozing off him - I could smell it like honey."

"The girls will be delighted anyhow," Albus chuckled.

Snape slouched back in his chair, hands resting in his lap. "I don't like him. And I get the distinct impression he is in far over his head."

"Let's not be too quick to judge," Albus gave the potions professor a hard stare. "Moody has yet to get back to me."

"He looks a lot like James, doesn't he?" Remus grinned at Severus. "Perhaps they're of relation."

"All the more reason to hate him."

Minerva cleared her throat, drawing the conversation away from the touchy topic of James Potter. "Do you think he's neutral?"

This query was met with silence. Obviously, they would have to wait for Moody's report to be completely sure, but first impressions always count. No matter how nice 'don't judge a book by its cover' may sound, it is inevitable in human nature.

"Hard to say," Dumbledore concluded. "We must be wary of him I'm afraid."

"And if possible," Flitwick added, "draw him to the Light. With such power he would be a great asset."

"And an asset is exactly what we need," Albus sighed. "But he is hiding something, hiding everything even, and I'm unable to break through his barriers."

"As was I," Severus gave his worst and most infamous sneer. "I wouldn't trust the boy as far as I could kick him."

"Not that we'll be kicking anyone anywhere," Remus smiled. "I wonder if he is a Seer though - "

"I doubt it."

"Oh Minerva." There was a twinkle in Albus' eye. "I suppose we can only find out."

...pppqqq...

Harry made his way to the North Tower, panting from the climb up and the narrow spiral staircase that still made him dizzy. His ribs hurt and his eyes stung - Harry felt like shit. It was no wonder Trelawney had hardly ever eaten or mingled with any other occupants of the castle, the journey down was just ridiculously too far, even with all Harry's shortcuts. Harry grinned at the thought - had it been made so on purpose?

Sure enough the old classroom was just as Harry knew it: circular tables, pouffes, chintz armchairs and all. It seemed the last professor hadn't bothered to change anything. Maybe she had known she wasn't long for the world and didn't see the point? Harry sniggered.

The dark red scarves draped dramatically over the lamps would be the first things to go.

Harry rolled his shoulders before withdrawing his wand, a grim smile tugging his lips.

...pppqqq...

He was exhausted by the time he made his way up another tiny staircase to his quarters, barely squeezing his shoulders through the narrow width, the final level above the classroom revealed by a bright green cracked door.

The bedroom was simple, comfortably furnished in a similar style as his room in the Gryffindor boys dormitory had been, much as the unsuit bathroom was. The view however, was spectacular.

Being a tower, the main room was somewhat circular with many windows looking over all directions of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry could see Hagrids' hut near the forbidden forest, the great lake and there was a brilliant view of the Quidditch stadium - you would easily be able to watch a match from here.

In fact, Harry pondered, it really wouldn't be that hard at all to simply forget about the world and never venture from his tower. Certainly, it wouldn't be worth the walk to go down and back up for lunch every day.

On the large oak desk opposite the four-poster bed was a timetable of Harry's classes.

He felt jittery at that. The only experiences Harry had with teaching was the DA in fifth year. And what a disaster that had turned out to be! He thought of Cho again and couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he should owl her, especially after just leaving like he did...

Looking back at the timetable he saw only one class of each grade, going from third to seventh years. It seemed many people in this world had given up on Divination and Harry remembered that Dumbledore had been planning to drop the subject.

Knowing Harry's luck he would be left with the laziest students who only wanted a bludge subject, their single talent lying in making things up as he and Ron used to.

Well, Harry sighed, only tomorrow would tell.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Thanks heaps for all the encouragement! You've all been wonderful. huggles.


	4. All The Good Things

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**...Chapter Three...**

**All The Good Things**

- "Have you seen the new Professor?"

- "He's so hot!"

- "I wish I hadn't given up Divination in fifth year."

- "Looks a bit scary to me. I wonder what he's like..."

- "But he's so hot!"

Harry felt like he was in first year again. Only worse this time around because now he would be expected to teach his fellow students. And Divination of all things! He was going to make a complete fool of himself, staring stupidly at tealeaves and crystal balls.

It was far too soon for Harry to loose all self respect yet again.

Why was his life so humiliating?

Harry paced his newly-improved classroom, having gone to breakfast early in hopes to beat the students. That hope however, had been in vain.

A third year class he might have managed too, but first period Monday morning was none other than the combined seventh years, seven Gryffindors' included.

Fantastic.

What the hell was he going to teach them? Harry flicked mindlessly through the hundreds of useless chapters in 'Unfogging the Future'. The whole book was complete bullshit and his earlier plans of staying to the curriculum now seemed inadequate, somehow. It simply wasn't enough, it wasn't fair - he wanted to give back more than that.

At that thought a new resolve passed over him. He could not teach anyone this utterly useless shit. In a matter of months these seventh years would be leaving Hogwarts and the knowledge they'd learned there could well prove to be the difference between life or death. Harry knew this all too well.

He didn't want to be their hero, but he might give them the minds to become their own.

How could Harry make Divination of an important quantity? What could he teach the students, somehow hooking it to the genre, that could even possibly help them through the tough times ahead?

Especially if he was stuck, as he'd thought the day before, with a bunch of thoughtless dunderheads.

That's when it hit him.

Who else called their students dunderheads?

Snape of course, who taught potions. But he'd also taught Harry something else.

Something very important, that after he had finally given in and learned it, had helped him a great deal.

Occlumency.

In less of a sophisticated phrasing, Harry smirked, defence in mind reading.

And mind reading could almost definitely be put in the category of Divination.

Harry snapped 'Unfogging the Future' shut, a sly smile on his lips. He could probably stretch Occlumency and Legilimency out for the whole year and the earlier grades, third through to six, wouldn't be nearly as hard to teach as his fellow pupils. He was sure he could lie and fabricate his way through, using the previous guidelines he'd learnt the subject by.

Time ticked away all to quickly before Harry heard the first footsteps ascend into the room from the spiral staircase. It gave him great pleasure to see Lavender and Parvati's horrified faces as they saw how he'd changed their favourite classroom.

Once dark, dingy and cluttered, the room was now bright, fresh and organised.

The windows were open, and the heavy stink of incense would eventually leave, Harry hoped. There was a large blackboard where the shelves once were, the teacups, cards and crystals moved neatly into cabinets underneath the tables.

The circular tables were now square, assembled facing the board somewhat like a muggle classroom, seating two to three students as they had before. The chintz armchairs Harry didn't have the heart to take away or change. At least they were comfortable, he reasoned, and although Harry wouldn't admit it to himself he was quite fond of them. They held so many dear memories of himself and Ron, the three years they'd spent in that room together, happy and cynical...

One by one the students trickled into the room and Harry's heart pounded faster in his chest as each familiar face greeted his own with looks of half raised eyebrows and surely smiles.

They thought he was a joke. A good-looking joke, but a joke all the same.

And why wouldn't they? He was teaching Divination after all, and that post had always been held in low regard. The simple idea of unfogging the future was in the majority laughed upon by the magical community. It was one of the more unreliable branches of magic to say the least.

Then Ronald Weasley stumbled in with the blond Harry Potter in tow, and Harry felt his heart leap into his throat.

He wasn't ready for this.

For seeing these people again, who had all so bravely given their lives for the greater cause.

For the Boy-Who-lived to stay living.

For Lord Voldemort's ultimate downfall, who couldn't see the drive or importance of love.

Love and friendship, forever underestimated.

Harry realised he must have been gawking at the redhead, who was beginning to look quite scared at the attention of the Professor. Harry turned away from the students, staring out the window instead.

_Blood. Everywhere._

_Dripping. Pulsing. Dangling..._

_A body. Ron's._

_It was too late. It was his fault..._

_Red. Eyes? Voldemort?_

_It was all red. Everything was red._

_He had never seen so much blood._

_Everywhere._

_It was his fault._

_All. His. Fault._

Harry took a deep breath, desperate to end the burning sensation on his cheeks and the water settling in his eyes.

That was all in the past.

Time to move on...

But how on earth was he to begin?

The students were now chattering amongst themselves, bored of waiting for him to make a start. He supposed they were all present by now.

"Classes are usually began by calling the roll, Professor."

The contemptuous look on Lavender Brown's face was enough to pull anyone out of the most horrid thoughts. Now was not the time. Later, perhaps. Maybe.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, with what he hoped to be a ridiculing smug expression. "No need to fret, Miss Brown. I've already marked it."

He hadn't, as of yet, but knew everyone who was there and could easily do it after class.

That he had known Lavenders' name and supposedly all those of his students caught their attention quick. That he had marked it before anyone had even arrived for class was a cheap Trelawneyish trick, but it had worked, so what the hell.

"I'm Professor Evans, your Divination teacher for the rest of the year," it came out somewhat rushed and Draco Malfoy didn't bother to turn his snigger into a cough.

Harry had to make an impression, or none of them would ever give him the due respect.

"Who here believes," Harry gave Malfoy, sitting next to Goyle, his best and most dismissive glare. "That they have, and can give an example, of a time when they have shown the power of Divination?"

Harry had half expected Lavender or Parvati to stick their hand in the air, but thankfully both remained as quiet as everyone else.

"I honestly think that this late in your education, gazing into a crystal ball is a waste of both mine and your own time."

It seemed the class didn't know what to make of this, although a few eyebrows were again held high.

Harry leant against the window frame behind him, gazing at the wondering faces of his students. So many memories, good and bad, mingled temptingly before him. "I'm not going to try and fool you into thinking that when you leave Hogwarts life will be easy. You know this, or at least you should. There is a war going on and in a little less than six months you will be thrust into the centre of it.

"Picking a side or remaining neutral is your own decision. But I want to help you. And I've been racking my brain out the last few days trying to think of a way to do that." Harry paused, ignoring the lie, and thought back on his train of thought before the students had arrived.

"Who here can tell me what Legilimency is?"

The class remained as quiet as ever, unnerving Harry to no end. His eyes fell on Neville, a frown across his round face, sitting unobtrusively between Dean and Seamus. Harry's heart thudded harder.

If he ignored his past and got on with this new life, he could be normal. Normal, like he'd only ever dreamed of being. But when it came down to it, did Harry have the guts? And was it guts, or was it selfishness? He could tutor Neville... tell him all he needed to know... hell, Harry could finish it all himself, do what he had to do - what he knew he was capable of doing... but then, he wouldn't be considered 'normal', would he? He'd be their hero again, and as lonely as ever...

"Mr Longbottom?"

And maybe there weren't Horcruxes in this world anyway... maybe everything he knew didn't apply here...

"It's where you... er...," Neville looked helplessly around at his classmates, Draco wearing a look of utmost happiness. The Slytherin loved making fun of Longbottom, the one who was meant to save the world and who so obviously stood little chance of triumph.

"Go on," Harry smiled, what he thought to be in an encouraging way, but only seemed to terrify Neville further.

"Is it like, taking feelings and memories from another persons mind, Professor?"

"Very good," Harry flicked his wand at the blackboard, where a piece of chalk began writing in spidery letters a text, of which the students dutifully began copying. "Five points to Gryffindor.

"Or in more blatant terms, you could have said 'mind reading'," Harry grinned - what would Snivellus think of his terminology! "I don't doubt that few of you will be any good at it, but I do hold the opinion that practicing something which is useful, no matter how competent you may be, will be a more constructive way to spend your time whilst in this classroom than interpreting dreams or drinking tea."

Harry's smile widened at the few who dared to laugh.

"Of course, Legilimency can only be counteracted with Occlumency, and so you will be acquired to learn both. Does everyone understand?"

A general nod swung around the class, the scratching of quills on parchment finishing.

"So, to begin with I'd like you all to get into pairs," Harry couldn't help feeling reminiscent as the blond Harry Potter glared maliciously at Draco Malfoy. How he'd love to view the Slytherin's most embarrassing experiences... "Preferably with someone you trust," Harry added. "So pair up wisely. Everyone has memories they'd prefer not to share."

… … …

Albus,

I have searched high and low for any records or reports concerning a Hadi Evans. The boy, simply put, just does not exist. There is no such person ever born in Europe. I also took the liberty of checking every witch and wizard to attend a magical school in Italy and all have been accounted for.

Awaiting your order,

Moody.

… … …

Remus Lupin treasured consistency. He liked to know where he would be tomorrow, today. Organisation and planning were necessities. He believed himself to be a good judge of character, and was seldom proven wrong. His friend Sirius Black often called Remus boring, stating he was far too lacking in spontaneous and risky qualities. But Remus knew better.

There is a thin line between bravery and foolery. Boring is safe. Being ordinary, of which Remus could only ever crave to be, is safe. Life is better than death. The world is not only black and white. The werewolf was always the cautious one.

Remus did not like surprises.

And Hadi Evans seemed to be full of them.

The students had been no more rowdy than usual at lunch time, it was only to be expected on the first day of a new year and term. There was news to be told and gossip to spread. Nothing to be suspicious of.

But as Remus neared the door to his classroom of seventh year Gryffindors' that afternoon, the loud chatter seemed somehow not to be quite right. He paused, his hand resting on the doorknob, his hearing easily picking up the conversations inside.

- "Now I really wish I hadn't given up Divination in fifth year."

- "Is Legilimency even legal?"

- "I reckon I've mastered it already."

- "Who cares! I can't wait to know what goes on in Snape's head."

- "Oh really, what am I thinking then?"

- "Yeah, I bet he knows Occlumency though."

- "Contemplating suicide. I would if I were you anyway."

- "Saving up for some de-frizz hair care product. You should, you know..."

- "Shut up Potter!"

- "Your building up the courage to ask Evans on a date."

- "Oh come on, he's a Professor!"

- "He's so hot though, don't you think?"

Remus cracked the door open, ending the argument on that particularly dangerous subject. But he was intrigued. Legilimency? Occlumency? How on earth could students be learning that! Neither came easily and both were considered to be of the darker shade of magic, never before taught at Hogwarts.

What exactly did Hadi Evans have in mind for his seventh years?

Certainly the skill could be useful, but the Divination class did not contain the most trustworthy students. One small mistake, like teaching a Malfoy Legilimency, could easily prove to be the Lights destruction.

Remus slapped his old briefcase onto his desk. Hadi Evans was not to be dismissed so easily, and his previous thoughts on the character now seemed so very wrong.

Yes, Remus smiled at the class, the Divination Professor definitely needed further investigation.

...pppqqq...

The first day of each New Year brings with it many resolutions, fresh beginnings and decisions.

For Harry Potter, his third day in a new world, it brought great relief, optimism and one small step forward. But the past cannot be easily forgotten, and pushing problems aside does not make them disappear.

For the son of two loving parents, a fair haired Harry could not sleep; his dreams plagued with the haunting figure outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, bright emerald eyes forever watching.

For Neville Longbottom, burdened as no other could be, stared hard at a photograph of another's girlfriend; bushy hair and buck teeth grinning back. Unrequited love was harsh. But he would fight to the end.

For Draco Malfoy, sitting alone in the Slytherin common room, the dreaded future weighed heavy in his heart and mind. His hands shook, his breath hitched and his heart pounded far too fast. His time was running out. He had to choose.

And for Remus Lupin, as he retired for that night and many to come, giving in to the trickle of suspicion that would fill his mind of little else. He had to solve the growing puzzle that was Hadi Evans.

But most resolutions are broken, fresh beginnings will always be shadowed by the past and rash decisions will turn out for the worst.

There will never be peace.

All good things must come to an end.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading. Reviews are (of course!) very welcome.


	5. Attack of Dementors

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

_Italics indicate memory/thoughts. _

**…Chapter Four…**

**Attack of Dementors**

It was out of habit these days that Harry would find himself awake mere hours after the sun first surfaced, with no wish to ever go back to sleep again. Instead he would pass this time before breakfast reading old newspapers, having borrowed stacks upon stacks from the school library. He'd told Madam Pince he was doing a historical analysis of the truth in star gazing. Hermione would have been proud.

And so it was the way his new routine had began; waking, reading, eating, teaching, eating, sleeping.

But all the while, with each second he wasted in the castle, Harry could think of little else but seeing his parents again, seeing Sirius again, and having a half decent conversation with Ron or Hermione or Ginny. And they would not leave him alone, never stopping from the continuous plague on his mind, the faces of dead friends surfacing at the most inappropriate times.

Friday morning came as the end of the much dreaded first week back, beginning for Harry exactly the same as the four days before it had. But as sharp emerald eyes flicked carelessly over a ten year old paper, Harry was startled out of his reverie.

A chill crept down his spine, sending hair to stand on end.

And Harry felt it then. Chilled, scared, drained. Like the happiness was being sucked right out of him. He knew that Dementors were near, and anywhere near was simply far too close.

Harry jumped from the old lounge suite he had been lying on, spilling lukewarm tea down his front. He didn't even see the mug fall further to shatter on the floor; Harry was already spinning around in circles, trying to determine which direction the soulless beasts may be heading from.

At last he stopped turning to face his eastward bound window, looking down upon the shadowed depths of the forbidden forest. In-between the dark treetops Harry stared hard for any sight of the Dementors, but could see nothing of their ghastly forms at all. Harry pressed his nose right up to the cold glass, his eyes darting this way and that, hoping beyond reason that feeling the presence of Dementors that were not even in sight would not mean the only thing it could: that they had come in plenty numbers.

Without thinking any more on the matter Harry reached for his wand tucked securely inside of his sleeve, raised it into the air and whispered the first spell that came to mind, before he even considered what he was doing.

"Alarmiousa."

Sure enough it only took seconds and the alarm bell sounded pounding through the walls of the school, not at all a welcoming to the later rising occupants.

Harry stood frozen where he was, tea spilt down his robes, mouth gaping open. He could not believe that this would happen so soon - that anything normal of wartime would be happening at all. He'd been deluding himself, living in a fantasy, dreaming of such things that were never to have any possibility of really happening.

Because Tom Riddle was still in power, set to devastate all that he could. And where Tom Riddle was, evil would pursue.

And that was the way Harry had set off, this thought triggering him into old habits; down two sets of spiral staircases, three floors of screaming portraits, a double take on a moving stairwell and another five corridors on and he was half way there. By the time Harry reached the Entrance Hall twelve minutes later, panting from the long climb, the whole student body was in an uproar.

Harry could hear Hermione's voice inside of the hall -Head Girl, like she should have been in his world- trying to calm down the frightened students. Harry walked past the slightly ajar doors, peeking in to see the students milling about, picking fights and screeching. Waiting outside the four House hour glasses the Professors crowded in a circle, talking in harassed tight-lipped voices.

"What could it be?"

"What's happening?"

"Is this a prank?"

"Who sounded the alarm?"

"I did," Harry said loudly, speaking over the babble of voices, squeezing into a small opening to stand next to Hagrid. "I sounded the alarm."

Dumbledore turned to him, waving a hand at the others to bring silence. They obeyed without hesitation. "Why? What's wrong?"

"There are Dementors," Harry replied quickly, making sure his voice would not carry into the hall. "A lot of them, coming from the forbidden forest."

"How many, exactly?" McGonagall asked, "can you give us an estimate?"

"Oh, I haven't actually seen them," Harry told his fellow professors, just then realising how odd that may seem. "I can feel them, you know."

Apparently they did not know.

"Dear Merlin," Severus proclaimed, pinching the bridge of his over large nose. "Please do not tell me, Mr Evans, that you called the alarm not being absolutely certain of the immediate danger?"

"Yes, of course I did," Harry snapped back. "These are Dementors we're talking about. Advancing on the castle. What, would you have me invite them in for a cup of tea?"

Snapes' face lost the little colour it usually had then, Harry recognising the sign to be one of boiling rage. Still he sneered back at Snape, looking him straight in the eye. Harry was, admittedly, never one to give in easily - as stubborn as they come.

"All right then," Dumbledore said, ignoring and overriding the silent battle amongst his staff. "Those of us who are able to fight the Dementors will. Filius, if you will floo the Ministry, and Minerva, I leave you in charge of the students."

McGonagall pursed her ever-thinner lips, Flitwick nodded.

The alarm still resounded behind them, bouncing louder and louder, creating more panic than Peeves could have dreamed of.

Those able to do the Patronus charm - a small five in total, including Sinistra, Snape, Lupin, Harry and Dumbledore - followed the Headmasters lead, bringing them out the front doors of the school to stand on the threshold viewing the lake and, most importantly, the forest. They wasted no more time.

The morning sun was hidden under a cloud, the sky looming dark and sinister before them. Harry looked quickly to his left, part of the forest obscured from the castle. The staff ran out further onto the grass, heading with caution to the forest. They stopped a hundred metres from the tall pines, panting, having planted themselves directly between the onslaught and the school.

Four men, one woman, robes billowing in the morning breeze, wands raised in stiff hands. Waiting. Watching.

"I think I can just see them now," Remus said, his voice soft. Though, when Harry looked at him, it seemed much more like he was _sniffing_ the Dementors.

They stood there, not another word being uttered, for the next five, six minutes. Slowly, black dots peeking between the bark, the Dementors appeared in Harry's sight. With them, a confirmation of his initial feelings, came the familiar icy, dank morbid dread.

"…_as if… As if you'd never be happy again," Harry supplied dully._

"How long will the Ministry take?" Harry asked Lupin quietly, not taking his eyes off the trees.

"I'm not sure," Remus replied, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Only," Harry hesitated but continued, "this could be a distraction."

Remus looked at him then, as did Dumbledore and Snape.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Well," Harry sighed, his own dim memory of a Dememtor attack on Hogwarts coinciding suspiciously with a greater battle elsewhere. "When was the last time an attack was made without Deatheaters?" His eyes flicked to Snape without thinking.

No-one answered, keeping their gaze locked straight ahead.

"Get ready. They're almost within distance."

And then Dumbledore rolled his shoulders, drew himself up as tall as he could, and practically bellowed "Expecto Patronus!"

A shimmering Phoenix erupted from the tip of his wand, shooting towards the line of Dementors forming about the trees, illuminating the vast number of black hooded figures.

Harry just watched, knowing he needed the Dementors to be closer, but dreading and hating them with every fibre of his being. In the light of Dumbledores' Patronus they saw the Dementors coming in, a loose line floating ominously towards them - towards the castles main entrance, their stench filtering through the morning air. Tainted. Intoxicating. Harry futilely began to count, reaching twenty three before he gave up. There were hundreds, more than thrice that he had encountered in his third year. Likely, the whole group to ever of inhabited Azkaban was gathered there today, bent on destroying the school. Destroying, that is, by way of murder.

And it was at this thought that the first terrible memory absorbed Harry's mind, drowning out the protests like only Dementors could, throwing him back through time to one of the worst moments in his life.

… … … …

_She smiled, chocolate brown eyes gazed unseeingly forward, though the body was limp in his arms._

"_Ginny? Please get up."_

_He shook her, he kissed her, he squeezed her, and he cried over her cold body, but still she would not be awoken. She could not be awoken._

… … … …

Harry bit his lip, heaving deep breaths.

Happy, happy… he had to think of something happy…

When Dementors came like this - in these numbers, as the opposition, he had to be prepared with a good, happy memory. His parents? But no… he needed something more than that now… more than he had ever needed in his life… And it came to Harry like the golden Snitch always did; jubilant and proud.

The elated feeling of triumph.

Because through all that he had lost, through all it had cost him, Harry Potter had won out in the end. He had done it. He had been victorious. And by Merlin, he could do it again.

"Expecto…" his voice was feeble, so soon exhausted. "Expecto Patronus."

A faintly silver stag dripped from Harry's wand tip, alike four other ghostlike animals beside him. Together the five Patronus' danced forward, meeting the line of Dementors head-one, attempting to chase them back.

Attempting, being the operative word.

The black clad figures laughed at the pathetic attempt - laughed, and ridiculed and mocked.

Because in no way whatsoever were five small non-existent creatures going to drive back the Great Lord Voldemorts' Army of Dementors.

Harry took a step back, keeping to the right of the line the Professors had formed. To be standing against such huge a force seemed crazy now, completely beyond comprehension. Had Harry gone though so much to meet death at such an end? To live a week in another universe, have his hopes raised so far, and die without anyone knowing even his true name?

Harry turned, watched Dumbledore emit another Patronus, watched Snape take another step back, watched Remus ready his wand to no avail, watched Sinistra fall to her knees.

And yet again Harry was sucked into his own mind, forced to live through another few seconds of self-torture.

… … … …

_So many people had turned up, more than he could ever have dreamed of. They crammed together, tightly packed, compressed, openly declaring love and forgiveness. Together, one. United. They cheered him on, stamped their feet on the ground, shook their fists in the air. The sound was deafening, unrestrained and excited._

_Because they had hope. Because they believed in him._

_And for the first time in a very long while, Harry Potter had smiled._

_But then a resounding crack, a dull thud, and the wards had broken. The Deatheaters had arrived._

_And they were all going to die._

… … … …

Dumbledore's hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him. "Hadi!" His voice was loud and clear, shouting in his ear. "Stay with us, Evans."

Snape cursed and blanked out, collapsing in a pool of mud, his body convulsing. Remus conjured a hazy cloud and Sinistra was down too, pulling chunks of dark hair from her own scalp.

The Dementors were twelve metres away, eleven, ten, nine. But there were too many, far too many, and Harry could then not think of anything at all, but the one stubborn emotion that was always with him. His obligation. His gentleman-like courtesy. Harry couldn't ignore these people and their problems, no matter that they didn't even know his real name. He couldn't… and he wouldn't.

Just as suddenly as Harry had woken from one tragic memory, Remus was down, kneeling beside him. His hands clung to his face, nails scratching fleshy cheeks to leave deep gouges, blood spilling everywhere. For a moment all Harry could do was stand and stare, his mind racing through the nightmares his colleague may be reliving.

Faintly the bell still rang in his head, drifting in the breeze from the castle.

Then Harry kneeled too, gripping the werewolf's arms and pulling him to his feet. They would stand strong, defend the castle together. Himself and Remus, almost like old times.

The Dementors were just seven metres away now, moving faster, more excited.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled again, and pearly white wisps escaped his wand, hovering mere feet in front of him. It wasn't enough.

They had one job now to do; keep the Dementors at bay, keep them from entering the school at all costs, to withstand the torture of their presence till the Ministry would sent their Aurors' to take over.

Again all good thoughts left Harry to the horror of ill ones.

… … … …

_A half empty bottle of firewhisky sat in front of him, taunting and tempting. His head spun, grief clinging like tape to his soul. The alley he rested in was dirty and unsafe, but still he could not muster enough inside of himself to go. To carry on. He couldn't be fucked._

_It was all too much… Too much for even the Boy-Who-Lived to cope with._

_Anyone but Hermione. He had promised Ron, and failed yet again._

_Hell would be incomparable to Heaven, as the wreck he now faced. Death would come with rejoice._

"_Get up!" Snape cursed, appearing out of no where, pushing Harry against the cold stone wall. He showed no mercy, no pity. "You must get up!"_

"_Why?" Harry had asked, blood shot eyes accusing. His voice came slurred, and he only loathed himself the more for letting Snape hear it. "What's the point?"_

"_The point?" Snape spat, pale and furious. "Because you must! Because no other will, and no other would stand a chance." He cursed again, pulling Harry up from the scruff of his robes. "You owe it to your parents, to your friends, to the innocent._

_It's your duty, your obligation. You owe it to yourself!"_

_And he had got up, lived another day, killed another dozen. Because he could never, no matter what else may happen, ever let the Potions Master see him again as he was that night._

… … … …

There were shouts behind him then, drowned out by more screams of terror. Maybe the Aurors had finally showed up. Maybe, just perhaps, they might make it through.

Maybe the army of Dementors had broken into the castle.

Harry started, waking to find himself on the ground, Sinistra writhing and screaming beside him. A Dementor held her robes, bent over her body, soaking her in. Seven more were lined up, like waiting for service at a cafe. Snape was out of his sight, Remus standing again somewhere just behind him. Dumbledore had backed away, sweat beaded on his face, dying wisps still escaping his wand.

Fighting, on and on and on. Never giving up. Never looking back.

And, yes, Harry could see them now - a hazy line of Auror's, running their way from the gate. But they weren't fast enough. They wouldn't make it in time.

Dumbledore knew, Harry could see it in his eyes. Still though, there was hope. Hope until the very end, looking bright lurid green in the eye.

Harry was too familiar with this point in the battle - bringing out the last of your recourse's to meet the end. One last blast, going out with a bang. He took a deep breath, summoning all within himself. If he could do it at thirteen, he could do it again now. He knew he could.

A Dementor stood over him, black rags flying in the wind, stooping to reach his level. It's hand outstretched greedily, showing brown-yellow knobbed skin, long needle thin fingers.

Closer, closer, reaching, clutching.

Voldemort was dead. Defeated. He had won. …The one with the power…

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A stag. Ghostlike, fierce, angry. It embodied his emotion, growing with raw energy.

It charged.

And Harry fainted.

**…pppqqq…**

A/N: Phew. Comments, whether they be good or bad, are all welcomed :)


	6. In The Aftermath

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**…Chapter Five…**

**In The Aftermath**

"…_A disaster at the highest level… calamity making way for leges of pandemonium… injuries bring the under-staffed wards of St Mungo's Hospital to distress…"_

"Do think that's just slightly overdramatic?"

"Wait, it gets better: _…the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was notified after some dillydaddling of the Professors'… a small team of the most hardy Aurors were quickly taken from the battle in Muggle London and assessed the situation at the school…_

A snort.

"…_when deemed ready to make a suitable line of defence, the Ministry pulled those it could into defeating the Dementors at England's top magical school… success was quickly upheld, with no students hurt…_

"Oh, and listen to this bit - …_in all ways regarding the school, Albus Dumbledore's actions were appalling, only bringing further destruction upon all those present_… what a load of -"

"I give up, stop reading. I don't want to hear it any more."

"You'd have thought the whole of England had been killed, the way she's prattled on. A …_manifestation of incompetence_… indeed."

Remus threw the paper down, scowling.

Harry shivered. "I hate Dementors."

His words still sounded odd to his own ears, his voice crackled and croaking. The familiar ward gave him comfort though, as did the sounds of Madam Pomfrey finnicing about her other patients; a small boy suffering from elephant sized ears, wincing at the faintest noises, and an older girl, a sixth year Ravenclaw, with a lovely shade of turquoise coloured skin.

"Yes, well," Remus smiled. "I can't imagine anyone actually _liking_ them."

They were in the hospital wing, sitting up on the squishiest beds next to one another. Sinistra lay peacefully unconscious on Harry's other side. Snape had left a good half hour before, claiming he had much better things to do then waste his weekend chatting to them. Harry rather thought his departure had much more to do with the obvious loathing he felt towards them both.

"No, of course not," Harry agreed, sighing. "But I really, really hate them." He paused for a moment, considering if it were wise to continue. "My Boggart even takes the form of one."

Remus raised both eyebrows, clearly impressed with this declaration. "To fear but fear itself! Very wise. I wonder, would it be asking too much…"

"Yes?"

"Might you be interested in helping me with my seventh year class?" He asked it slowly, measuring the other mans reaction. "Only, as you can imagine, in recent light of the Dementors' attack, I've been trying to come up with a way I could teach the class the Patronus charm. And what better way to practice than on a Boggart?"

Harry smiled fondly. "I'd be glad to help in any way I can. As it happens, I learnt the charm by way of a Boggart too."

Remus smiled back, quite pleased. "Five teachers, Hadi. Five, out of the entire staff, are able to conjure a Patronus. It's pitiful, embarrassing. But mark my words, we may have been much worse off yesterday then it seemed. Really, unless the war ends soon -which I highly, sadly doubt- this next generation _has_ to be better prepared, it's unquestionable."

Harry nodded, wishing the werewolf would move on to a more enjoyable subject matter. The war depressed him, as it always had - he hated talking about it. Feeling impatient, wanting to talk with Remus as he had once, Harry heedlessly carried on, the first bubbling of impatience growing. He wanted to be rash and impulsive, and he wanted this to be _his_ Remus, no other - he needed Remus to trust him again, to guide him. "And what is your Boggart?" Harry smiled innocently, pretending to guess. "A spider? A clown?" A pause. "The moon, perhaps?"

Remus paled instantly, his lips disappeared, his fists clenched. He could not have looked more bare, more so completely, shamefully frightened, then if Harry had stood atop his bed and screamed his 'condition' to the whole world.

Harry regretted it immediately. "I wont tell, I promise."

"How do you know?" his voice was sharp, thrashing. It lashed out at Harry like a knife, cutting through the uncomfortable, painful silence.

"I can _See_ it," Harry explained quietly, glad for the excuse of his 'Divination Powers'. Though, when Harry dared look him in the eye again, it was quite plain that Remus did not seem the least bit believing.

"Oh, really?" It wasn't a question.

Harry frowned, annoyed. Any lingering comfort he had felt minutes before left him then, and all that remained was a troubled, angry need to do something, anything, to get his old life back on track. He shouldn't need to watch what he said in front of Remus - it wasn't fair that he had to gain his trust, his friendship all over again. It wasn't fair that he had been here all this time and not seen or heard of Sirius once - he did not know for sure if his godfather was even alive!

It wasn't fair that he could live in the same world as his parents, breathe the same air, speak to the same people, but not have them even _notice _him.

It wasn't fair that he couldn't talk to Ron or Hermione, that they weren't there to help and comfort him.

And it wasn't fair that he couldn't be with Ginny, tell her everything would be alright, that he would make everything alright, when it wasn't appropriate to be alone in the same room with her.

The injustice spread through him, burning his skin and eating away raw anger. He hated it.

If he didn't do something soon, make some move, declaration or decision, take some form of a decent risk, surely he would die from the trap of it all. _People don't liked to be locked up._ But now, Harry grudgingly realised, he had done it to himself. But he had to get out. He had to see them. He had to _do_ something.

It was suspicious, Harry knew, to leave Remus there on that note, but right then he couldn't care less. The large clock hanging above the exit told him it was noon. _Perfect._

"You know what?" Harry asked, sliding off the bed. His legs ached terribly, his back was stiff and cramped, but Harry ignored it all. "I'm really hungry… think I'll go down to the hall for some lunch." He was already at the door. "See you later!" Harry cried back, feigned cheerfulness.

He stormed down the corridor, frightening the passing students in his wake, stomped down three sets of undeserving stairs and rounded a corner so ferociously a portrait shrieked. Harry was so suddenly in such a foul mood, wanting so much to have things go for once in his favour, that it wasn't until he was passing Hagrids' hut that he realised just how cold it was outside, new snow falling down on his thin cloak.

And it was just then as he began to slow down, treading the old path to Hogsmeade, shivers running down his spine, that Harry began to feel a little guilty. A little sulky, a little embarrassed, a little like now he just wanted to crawl under his bed and never come out. It had been a while since he had thrown a tantrum, or acted so immature.

Where could he find his parents, or Sirius? Did he dare to simply walk into the Ministry, stand in front of a desk and introduce himself.

_"Hi, I'm Harry Potter. We're, well er.. kind of, related."_

No. Definitely not.

His thoughts continued on such plans as he walked on further, dreaming of encounters where he dressed himself as a vampire and asked his mother if she would be interested in donating blood, or he would track down his father and tell him they were long lost cousins.

Harry entered into the main street with the smallest of smiles on his face, content for the moment to live in his fantasies. Cho Chang, however, had other plans.

"Hadi!"

"HADI!"

Harry stopped, just outside of the Three Broomsticks, and began to slowly, grudgingly, turn around.

"Where have you been?" Cho commanded, appearing at his right side, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised high.

Harry really could not be bothered with the act. _Dear Merlin, it had only been a week._

She bounded right up to him, thick coats swinging, and engulfed him in a gigantic hug. "I've been so worried, with the attack and everything -"

"I'm sorry," Harry cut her off. "I should have wrote you sooner, I've just been really busy."

Cho smiled, not noticing his tone of great annoyance and insincerity, and proceeded to tie her fluffy pink scarf around his neck. "You must be freezing!" she scolded, rubbing her hands up his arms. "Why didn't you dress better?"

"Er… I left the castle in a rush…"

"Oh? Whatever for?" Cho blushed, already thinking she knew the real answer. "Not for… not for me?"

He almost laughed. Almost.

"Yes, of course," Harry pained a smile. "I had to let you know I was ok."

Cho sniffed, clearly very happy with this answer, and tried to suffocate him in another hug. "Why don't we go inside?" She motioned to the bustling pub, talking into his wet hair. "It's so nice and warm in there, and we have so much catching up to do!"

Before he could answer she had grabbed his hand and was pulling him inside, through the welcoming door and into the inviting chaos. It was lively and crowded, the noise deafening his ears, peoples faces -some he knew well, some he did not- flashed past as the pair made their way to the back of the room, Cho seating them next to the biggest fireplace.

And he had walked head on back into another cage, yet again.

…pppqqq…

Severus Snape had watched her capture him, and laughed quietly to himself as she dragged the young man inside. He had heard of Hadi Evans besting the students in his much loved classes, seen him battle Dementors with a look of all knowing triumph plastered on his face. He was sure, in fact, that they would not have made it in the attack of Dementors if he had not been with them. And yet, Severus sniggered, the man was easily undone with a pretty face.

He stared harder at Hadi, looking for something more… something to use against him, something he could pretend was a reason to hate the man more. _Oh, how he looked so much like that dratted James Bloody Potter_. It was one of Severus' favourite games.

Severus slumped further into his chair to get a better view, leaning on the wall behind him, hidden in the corner of the pub by a tail run of streamers, not yet removed from the New Year celebrations.

Hadi wasn't taking much care to look at ease or even mildly chirpy - no, on the contrary he was all but openly frustrated. Perhaps Chang had not done so good a job at seducing Evans as he'd originally thought. In fact, Severus frowned, Hadi looked so taken with his own emotions he may have forgotten -which would make him largely more vulnerable- to put his shields in their proper place.

He grinned, thin lips arced skyward.

Gently, ever so gently, Snape began to reach out, pulling tiny strands of magic from within himself and forcing them, ever so gently, through the barrier of Evans. There was a reason to the acclaim of Snape's Mastery in Legilimency.

He paused, letting the stream of magic trickle slowly at it's own pace, flooding the floors of Evans's mind unnoticed. Snape leant forward, resting his head in his hands, his eyes closed tight. All he had to do was wait, hoping his fellow Professor would not notice -or track- the source steadily invading him. Snape breathed slowly, careful to not over exert himself or rush, waiting patiently for an image to come to him. And come it would.

Gradually, the faintest colour began to grow and blossom in his closed sight.

Lurid, bright and artificial, emerald green.

The green of Hadi Evan's eyes.

The green of the killing curse.

And names ticked off a list, whispering tauntingly into his ears, those Evans was primarily thinking about; _James Potter. Lily Potter. Sirius Black._ They swam in a circle of three, repeated again and again and again_. James Potter. Lily Potter. Sirius Black. James Potter. Lily Potter. Sirius Black._ Faster and faster, they continued to spin and spin and spin, obsessively. It was enough to make anyone crazy.

He wanted to… find them? To talk to them? To know them?

_James Potter. Lily Potter. Sirius Black._

Or just for them to know him?

Severus delved deeper, plunging his magic beyond the surface of Hadi Evan's thoughts and deep into his memories, pulling one out at random.

He was nervous, so very nervous. And quite a bit queasy.

Snape saw a small boy with a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Sellotape and he had a scar on his forehead, half hidden beneath messy bangs, the shape of a lightening bolt. All was black around him. He couldn't see a thing. Then a small voice began to whisper in his ear. 'Hmm. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?'

Snape knew that voice, he was sure. But it couldn't be… it wasn't possible…

Hadi Evans had never gone to Hogwarts, he was most certain of that. Dumbledore, McGonagall, one of them would have recognised him, even if he was disguised under a potion or a charm. And the Sorting Hat, he was sure, positive, it was about to put the boy in Slytherin, but…

"Hello, Severus. Are we having fun?"

Snape took a sharp intake of breath, cutting his threads of magic off and unintentionally ending his connection to Evans. _Damn it._

"Shut it, Mad-Eye," Severus snarled, his eyes not leaving Hadi's face.

Evans's head had turned to blink green -lurid green, death green- eyes in their direction. He frowned, not being able to see the gaze he had felt so strongly boring into the back of his head, and slowly brought his attention back to Chang.

Mad Eye Moody sat down opposite the Potions Professor, leaning forward to see what was attracting his focus so.

"Hmph. That's our mysterious Hadi Evans, is it not?"

"The one and only." Snape was not in the mood to talk. "You haven't met him yet?"

"Oh, I know everything there is to know about the boy - which is absolutely nothing," Moody growled, taking his notorious hip flask from his side. _The nerve of him- to waltz inside of a pub and drink another beverage…_

"Hmph," Snape didn't reply, but a thin, rare smile began to creep it's way around his mouth. Because it was rare these days for the Potions Master to find anything he deemed amusing enough to smile about. And now he knew something, of sorts, that no one else did, and that was always something that had been able to make him most happy indeed - no matter to its impossibly confusing nature.

He brought his glass of whisky to lips, making a private toast.

_To the power, the sweet merciful power, of knowledge and superiority._

Snape couldn't wait to tell.

**…pppqqq…**

A/N: Hi. Thought I should also add, 'popping corn' tells us that the name 'Hadi' is pronounced haa-dee. Thanks for reading!


	7. Of Parties and Parents

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

_Italics on pre-tense, emphasis and thoughts._

**…Chapter Six…**

**Of Parties and Parents**

_Harry sat frigid in his hard-backed seat, heart racing and palms sweaty, wondering how Remus had ever convinced him to invite Cho to the family dinner party, how many gruesome ways he could torture her when he got out, and when in Merlin's name it had started to go so horrendously, impossibly wrong. And to think, he had thought all those years of suffering under the Dursleys' meal time banter was bad - it was nothing to the horridly awkward predicament he had thrown himself in here, head first with an animalistic fever and unreasonably optimistic hopes._

_It had been unbearably naive of him to think this reunion would be dandy - that he might be considered a friend, accepted without question._

_Lily arched her brow higher still, waiting expectantly for the answer he couldn't possibly give._

Tuesday had rolled in wet and cold, breaking the stream of warmer weather with sheets of icy rain, the gloom quite reflective of Harry's expansively dire mood. But the shadowed path of the day refused to remain so, and as the clocks of Hogwarts chimed six Harry found himself elated - happy beyond reason and scared shitless all the same. He paced his small, circular bedroom in a frenzy; throwing robes this way and that, brushing his teeth, combing his irate hair all the while attempting to shave and grade his third years paper on the tea brewer 'Earl of Gray' at once.

But he couldn't concentrate, nor stick to one task at a time - he was too damn excitable.

Another boring Monday had bumbled in and out without any particularly interesting happenings - except, it seemed, that Snivellus Snape now regarded Harry with even more inexplicably spiteful hostility. Harry honestly didn't mind. Tuesday, again, looked to hold only bleak, mundane prospects - the usual - but then Remus, despite Harry's misgivings of greatly offending him that past Sunday morning, had seen it fit to invite him to a dinner party last moments notice.

At Godric's Hollow.

_Harry's parents house._

Perhaps he should have hesitated, let the idea stew in his mind and take a little time to properly think it over. Certainly, that's what Hermione would have advised he do. Harry couldn't help but feel just a little bit suspicious that he of all people might be invited to such an occasion (there had to be an alterier motive, surely) but there was no way in hell Harry could refuse the offer - he'd been waiting, dreaming of such an opportunity since his journey to this strange new world. The mere thought of venturing to his old home, the unrestrained anticipation that held him captive on seeing his parents again, sent grating shivers cutting down his spine.

Harry let out a hiss, the enchanted razor chasing him around the room having nicked his chin painfully.

Abruptly he stopped, abandoning the papers, throwing the razor to the ground and stomping on his useless comb, and as he turned swiftly on his heel his ankle caught in a set of jumbled robes and Harry fell unceremoniously back onto his bed. He seriously had to consider the enlightening prospect of never getting up. It was tempting - all too tempting.

"You really ought to get a move on, Hadi," came a weary command from a spot directly above Harry's bed, the portrait of a young woman stopping her preening to look down upon her. Harry had become quite attached to Lady Catherine - a chatty young witch from the eighteenth century, forever griping on whatever took her fancy; from the backboard of her portrait to Harry's intemperate mood swings. "Forget the hair - it's a futile effort. The stubble will do and the papers will wait. And do wear the silver robes, dear, they're most becoming."

"Hmph," Harry grumbled back in reply, his head still burrowed in his favorite, fluffiest pillow. Slowly, his mind racing and dancing between hundreds of differing tracks, Harry retreated to a detached, automatic flight and took Catherine's suggestions to heart. Frighteningly soon he had dared one last glance at the mirror atop his dressing table, a pale blank mask gazing back, and Harry made his way down the spiral staircase and on to the Entrance Hall, where he would be meeting Cho - Remus had extended the invitation to a partner, and Harry could think of no other he might like (or could conveniently ask, really) to accompany him. She would be a distraction in the very least, a means to draw unwanted attention away from himself. He hoped.

Questions fought each other about his mind and Harry struggled to arrange an orderly fashion, placing them in categories of 'Must Find Out', 'A Tad Inappropriate' and 'Certainly Not This Time'. There was so much he wanted to know, that this one opportunity counted for so much, and Harry was terrified that he'd screw it up, come off as a complete wanker and that no-one (namely his parents and Sirius) would ever care to see him again. He supposed, though, either way it would be worth it - whether they liked him or not, Harry just_ had_ to see them again.

There was a lot riding on the exercise - his performance would be volatile.

It was on the third floor corridor where a three headed dog had once resided that Harry ran head on into another, lost as he were in his own world of battling subconscious, and he stumbled back, barely catching his balance. The other wasn't so lucky, falling heavily to the ground with an enormous pile of books scattering about them.

Harry grumbled loudly, impatient to leave the castle that had become such a hindrance, a cage, and be on his way, just as the fallen girl cursed.

"Honestly! Is it too much to ask for a person to stick to one side of the corridor!" Hermione Granger reprimanded, ignoring Harry's offered hand of assistance and climbing stubbornly up by herself. "If we all stuck to the_ left_ side, these things - " she stopped abruptly, turning a lovely shade of beet red, taking notice for the first time of the Professor she was mercilessly berating.

"Accio books," Harry quipped, rather amused at his old friends antics, opening his arms to catch the stack of heavy texts that came flying up from the ground. "I do give you my utmost sincere apology for," Harry smiled, "walking so obviously far too close to the right. But as much as I'd love to stay and chat, Miss Granger," Harry continued, pushing the enormous volumes into Hermione's arms a little regretfully, "I'm rather in a hurry," his voice trailed off, already three steps away, leaving the mortified Head Girl to gape.

It was the first words he'd uttered to the Hermione Granger of this world.

Though, Harry had to have priorities - visiting the home of parents he'd never known took president over an embarrassing collision with his best friend's counterpart. He could make some pathetic excuse to chat to Hermione later - his parents, on the other hand, were much harder to corner. Perhaps he might give her a detention for the scene.

Harry met Cho in the Entrance Hall. She looked pretty, as always, wearing a wide seductive grin and a lovely set of violet colored dress robes. Together they made their way to Remus' office, where the three of them had arranged to floo together on to the Potters' home.

Cho herself was flushed and exuberant; the Potters' were a seclusive family, very rich and quite famous within the English Wizarding community. The husband, Cho informed Harry - James Potter - was Head of the Auror Office, and the wife - Lily Potter - also worked at the Ministry, in the Recreation of Combinative Charms Department. Cho continued prattling on with the families social standings, giving Harry an intricate account of the Potters' popularity, and exactly how very close they were rumored to be near Dumbledore's exclusive following.

Stopping at Remus' office, Harry knocked eagerly on the hard wood of the door, so much so that Cho shot him an enquiring look. I've waited seventeen years, Harry told himself, grinding his teeth together and cracking his knuckles. He could wait another five minutes. Still, Harry was hardly able to stop the wildly excited grin from answering her, and it took all his effort not to tap his foot in impatience.

Remus opened shortly, making polite conversation as the three went quickly to the fireplace. Cho lead the way in, disappearing behind a heated blast of sparkling emerald green flames. Harry followed, loathing the jolt of terrible spinning twists as his body left Hogwarts and pounded to a halt some thousand kilometers on, eyes shut tight and ash assaulting him.

With a tremble of disbelief Harry stepped from the fireplace, brushed his robes off and walked slowly to where Cho stood waiting at the doorway of his father's office. Remus joined them a moment later, and the trio quietly made their way, behind Remus' direction, to where the guests stood about in a comfortably furnished living room. Harry felt that he wasn't quite able to digest what was happening around him, to comprehend the situation he was headed for.

Eyes followed his every movement, caught his every breath. It was only then that Harry _really_ began to question why he had been invited, and his previous excitement came crashing down about his ears - it was a friendly interrogation, a plight to source the secrets, the mystery they must undoubtedly see surrounding him.

It was Harry's worst nightmare, a living hell - and, as confusing as it seemed, all he had ever wished for.

The room was compressed with Order members, tightly gripped wine glasses, breezy laughter, dim music and oppressed chatter.

Harry allowed Cho to pull him further in to the party, pretending to listen to her consistent whispered narrative all too happily - his focus tied largely to the faces swimming around him from all directions. He consciously noted Remus move to where Peter Pettigrew stood alone in a corner, and James, his father, loudly express himself to an avid audience including Mad Eye, Tonks and _yes_ - a cheerfully attentive Sirius Black, who definitely looked healthier, handsomer than Harry ever remembered seeing him before. Again Harry found himself in a fight to control the pounding of his heart, and it took a great deal of strength to pull his gaze away from the group and continue a measure of the rooms occupants.

The sensible part of Harry kept telling him that this wasn't happening, that he was in a state of surreal euphoric dreams. And though Harry knew that he really was there, that these people of this Brave New World were in fact not merely a figment of his imagination, the complete impossibility of the situation gave Harry confidence.

What did it really matter what they thought of him anyway, Harry told himself, though the words fell deaf, silent and full of falsity. Because he _did_ care - but he could hardly let that hold above self preservation. He supposed it would be better to come off arrogant and flamboyant than to be utterly polite, but full of shite.

A tray floated past them carrying auderves and various alcoholic beverages, and Harry grabbed at the opportunity to give his confidence another boost. Swiftly he snatched two glasses of blood red wine from the tray, passing one to Cho. She took it hesitantly between damp fingers, and continued without pause her observations of the rooms pleasant decor. Harry feigned negligent interest, nodding his head and smiling innocently, gulping the wine quickly to steady his shaking breath.

It was Lily, sneaking up quietly behind Harry, that made the first move towards him.

"Hello there," she greeted, pushing a strand of deep red hair from her smiling, welcoming face. "You must be Hadi?" Harry wasn't fooled. Her eyes were calculating, the hold of her stance ready for attack. She was measuring him, weighing him - and definitely finding him lacking.

Harry nodded, not quite trusting himself enough to speak. He supposed, then, if he were to be gruff and nasty the Order might just let him be - either that or take him by force.

"And Cho," Lily continued, turning to Harry's companion. "Remus has been telling me about you both - it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"As it is to be here," Cho replied, gushing. Harry imaged her bending over backwards to lick his mother's shoes. "You have a beautiful home."

Lily smiled her thanks politely, planting her gaze firmly back towards Harry. "You do look an awful lot like my husband," Lily stated carefully, watching for the slightest reaction to this.

Harry instead looked away from her, towards where James was standing, laughing loudly and hitting Sirius hard on his back. There was no point denying the obvious resemblance, and Harry answered with the only plausible explanation he could find. Their resemblance was uncanny, so blatantly obvious it would be stupid, ridiculous to say otherwise. "Yes, perhaps we're of some distant relation." Harry tried to smile, his eyes back on Lily, unblinking, but the grin came off more of a grimace. "The older families, you know," he carried on, "easily get intertwined."

It sounded lame even to Cho, who was looking back and fourth between James and Harry with the first glimmer of unease.

Harry had to ponder fleetingly why it had not occurred to him earlier that it might have been wise to change his appearance - the only answer to surface was that he hadn't quite believed he was really there, that he really had managed to travel to an alternate dimension. All this time he had still been waiting to wake up. Initially not disguising himself had added a rush, a little dare to his grand expedition of this unfamiliar, yet so alike his own, environment. It would certainly make things more _interesting_ now, Harry thought grudgingly, annoyed at his own sense or lack of sensibility.

What was it Moody had always lectured? _Constant vigilance._

Such preaching had bored him then in the testy, rebellious years before.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you'd like to head on down into the dining room, dinner will be served shortly."

Harry nodded and attempted again to smile - he really shouldn't have bothered, as the odd twisting of his lips only proved to look mildly freakish - and Cho tugged his hand, again leading him on.

"It's so cute when you get flustered," Cho chided him, giggling, though she was in truth a little anxious at his display of such odd behavior. Harry could tell it was beginning to dawn on her how little he'd let on, and what she actually knew about him - which was, again, shit all.

Running away to Australia seemed quite a nice option just about then too, as the twenty-some guests slowly began to make their way into the hall, and Harry walked on in complete realization of exactly what he was headed for - a bloody interrogation, and questions he certainly could in no way, shape or form answer, if he wanted to be safely back at Hogwarts the next morning.

He was surrounded with Auror's, Ministry Officials and the like. It was so very, highly likely he'd be caught out in his deceit. Dumbledore would have checked up on him, Harry was sure of that. The possibility of the dinner party ending in Azkaban was shifting closer with every waking second, at every word to tumble forth from his mouth - seeing his counterpart parents and godfather was looking less and less like a price he could willingly pay to share such privileged information, or lack thereof.

Still, it gave Harry the biggest thrill to see his parents at such close proximity, to talk to them and see them interacting with others he knew, despite the consequences that would undoubtedly transpire when the fabrications of his identity were pulled apart from the seams.

Harry was slightly jarred at the images of his parents and Sirius presented to him - all were, despite Harry's wishes for their well-being, perfectly fine. Nice. Comfortable. _Alive._ But he couldn't sway the feeling in the pit of his stomach that screamed for him to prove his worth, to save them from what they didn't need saving. They were, in truth, doing just great without him. And it stung. It quite sickened Harry that his so called 'hero complex' had hoped for them to be ill, in need of him and want of him.

Candles lit the path to a large dining room, painted in a sophisticatedly Gryffindor light with scarlet hued reds. An oval shaped mahogany table fell to the centre of the room, dressed with all they needed for a feast, warmed by an arched fireplace set along the left wall. A view of the estates gardens would have usually been seen through the line of windows, but at the time only chilly black nothingness stared mirroring forth. Harry had been to Godric's Hollow just the once since his own parents deaths, visiting soon after his sixth year the old house, where under very different circumstances he might have grown up. Seeing the glorious dining room took his breath away, the collaborating image of the ruins that stood in its stead in his own world replacing the presence, lingering in the forefront of Harry's mind.

He thought of what might have been, what his life would have been like if there had been no prophecy, or if his parents had not died that night.

Harry jumped when a familiar voice broke through his thoughts and quickly took a seat towards the end of the large table, overlooking the blank window frames, next to Cho. The chatter continued around him, though Harry never could shake the feeling that he was been closely examined, pried apart with flickering eyes and battering lashes. He'd have been quite content to be left out the conversations, though Moody and Tonks had other ideas entirely.

James, seated further up the table from Harry and just out of his immediate vision, swished his wand in a silent command and the plates set intricately about the table suddenly filled with masses of food. Harry thought, shifting uncomfortably in the hard backed chair, that really he should be glad not to be seated too close to his father, where the object of their looks might again be raised. Still, he was a little peeved with the seating arrangements. Helping himself to a slice of steak and kidney pie, Harry was reminded with a spitting image of meal times in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

Mad-Eye, sitting opposite Harry, dished potatoes onto his own gold rimmed plate like he hadn't eaten for days. "Need we make introductions, Hadi Evans? Or does your post as Divination Professor exempt such formalities?"

Harry snickered. "No, you're quite right, Moody. Introductions aren't necessary."

Harry thought the Auror looked mildly impressed - or it could have been a trick of the light. "And how are you enjoying Hogwarts, Professor?"

_And so it begins..._

"I like it there," Harry answered shortly, fleetingly aware that he had the attention then of the entire ensemble, fitting neatly into the lull. "It's very... " Harry swallowed, thinking hard. "Big."

Moody looked straight at him, both eyes googling - for once - in the same direction.

"And where again, precisely, did you say you lived in Italy?" Tonks asked politely.

"Here and there. I moved around a lot." Harry grinned.

"Any family?" she pressed.

"No, none."

"Schooling?" Moody simpered, shifting. "You have attended a Magical School at some point, have you not?"

Harry nodded, meeting the aged Auror eye for eye. "Yes," he answered simply, refusing to give out any more than he had to. "I did."

Sirius' barking laugh broke the awkward pause, rescuing Harry and securing the resumed rise of chatter again about them. Harry couldn't help ogle at his Godfather for just a moment, knowing that his attention would be known and not particularly caring. It was just so amazing to see him alive, to see him laughing.

"You play Quidditch at all?" Sirius called from further down the table. "I heard there was going to be a staff match later in the year?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Should be ... interesting."

"Hey, hold on a moment." Harry held his breath, James looking his way straight down the table. Hazel eyes met green and held. Harry blinked. "You must be Harry's teacher then, right?"

Harry smiled, nodding. "Yes, Harry's great. No problems at all."

"Harry, not a probelm?" James looked scandelised. "My son is not being a problem! What a travesty!"

Sirius snickered. "We'll have to have a word to him about that, then."

They laughed. Harry looked away, shielding his face from view. It was ridiculous for him to be jealous, really. And jealous of his blond self nonetheless! It made no sense.

"Hadi," Cho asked, interrupting. "Your English is so spot on - perhaps someone here would know your old teacher?"

Harry could have strangled her.

"I doubt it," he said instead, smiling. It was painfully obvious that no-one bought it.

For a while then Harry got into a good rhythm of dodging questions and diverting assumptions. The food was eaten and conversations carried on. He knew, though, that it wouldn't last much longer - if anyone hadn't been suspicious of him before they certainly would be now. His time in the shadows had come to an abrupt end, and soon - far sooner than Harry would have liked - he'd be forced into a position where he'd have no choice in really answering their questions, whether by the Ministry or the Order or even Voldemort. His story, the truth of his presence in this world would not be bought by any means, Harry was sure. He didn't particularly like the idea of pushing himself onto his parents either, for people to feel pressured to embrace him.

Harry doubted that would come to be the case anyhow - he'd be murdered, broken, or looked away in a Psych ward at best - long before anyone felt inclined to believe his tale.

But there was one thing he was still sure of, a decision Harry had made before his attempted time travel and of a sense he knew would never change - if he were to fight this time, it would be on his own, of his own accord. Seeing the Order again gave Harry strength, courage.

No loved ones would perish before him, fighting a noble but lost cause - it would be his war, his battle, his terms.

Though Harry was undecided on where he stood here, how much he could let on and help this world to his own sacrifice - and, really, how much he _wanted _to - he was positive of this one standing. And looking at his parents then, at Sirius and Remus and Nymphadora, Harry knew he couldn't do nothing, he wouldn't sit back and watch them be massacred.

It was with an earthly sinking that his fantasies of a 'normal' life slowly moved from wavering to dead, breaking thin threads of regret.

But he knew it was right - it certainly wouldn't be easy, but Harry _had_ set out to rewrite history for a better world and he'd see that through to the end, no matter to the consequences on his part.

"Tell us about your parents." Lily asked him, smiling sweetly. "Surely you must have a pair of those hidden away somewhere?"

Again the rooms attention was turned to him, appraising, calculating. Waiting for him to slip, to crack.

But Harry was, thankfully, saved from answering the terribly awkward question by the sound of hurrying, thundering footsteps.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, sweat beaded on his forehead and blood trickling down the side of his face, swung the door to the dinning room nearly clean off its hinge in his anxiousness, slamming it hard behind him. Half the Order members stood, anticipating the disastrous news before it reached their ears.

"There's an attack at the Ministry," Kingsley began, hurrying forward into the room and stopping short at the table, placing a ball of iridescent blue sting at the centre next to a platter of broccoli and cauliflower.

"Which department?" Sirius asked, picking the ball of string from the table and throwing one end to James, so that the length was within reach to all those seated along it.

"The Hall of Prophecies." Kingsley replied, panting, sharing a knowing glance with Mad-Eye. "The portkey leaves in five, four, three…"

Around the table hands flung forward to grab a hold of the string, clutching thread with shaking fingers, trembled breath, wands at the ready.

Harry froze._ The Hall of Prophecies_? There was no way in hell he could pass that up. Harry waited till the last moment to bring his wrist forward and twist the string into his grasp, Remus throwing him a questioning look, mouth opening to ask, but it was too late.

Harry felt the familiarly unpleasant tug at his navel close in, shutting his eyes to escape the dissying shapes and colors of his surroundings go spinning past. The last thing he saw was his father's approved look, grinning back at him with grim reassurance.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: So, here we are again, after another ridiculously long wait - sorry. I do find myself saying that an awful lot here! Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks for being so patient :)


	8. The Department of Mysteries and Miseries

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**…Chapter Seven…**

**The Department of Mysteries and Miseries**

Harry's old scar twinged painfully, his stomach tossing, his vision a blur.

They'd arrived at the Atrium.

_And Voldemort was there nearby_, Harry knew, a shiver cutting down his spine.

Harry stood to the right of the golden fountain, the gentle rush of water sprouting above him the only sound to reach his ears. Alastar Moody clicked his fingers once, drawing Harry's attention. Following the aged Auror's commanding gestures, the group sprinted off down the desolate corridor, Harry trailing somewhere in the middle of the line. They reached the shiny, golden gates that marked the lifts and clambered in, grilles closing behind them with a loud bang. They began to descend. There, waiting for level nine to be reached, Harry had to fight the urge to fidget, feeling the tenseness of a foreboding disaster await. He spun his faithful wand between long, quivering fingers. A chilling female voice rang through the air, voicing their destination. The lift jerked back, clanking gears, slowing to a rattled stop.

Harry could smell the spilt blood, the murder, the ominous Dark.

His scar began to tingle and itch.

Thirteen witches and wizards hurried out to the corridor and along the winding passage. They passed through the dull, plain black door, over the unguarded threshold, entering into the Department of Mysteries. In the circular room a larger group of Death Eater's awaited them, standing knee deep in a massacre. Already many bodies were spread about the floor, limbs detached and insides torn out, splattered and grated onto the black door-spanned walls, the black marble floor, the high black ceiling. Blood had drained from the corpses, dribbled and ran, swimming in large slippery pools.

Blue flames held in bunches on the walls flickered brightly and booted feet squelched.

Everywhere Harry looked he saw wet, glistening dark blood-red.

He faltered, revolted at the sight, and the door they had entered from slammed shut with a _bang_.

Then a series of brilliant lights, spell-fire, began to shower over them without pause, and cries of outrage littered the air. Battle-lines were drawn, jaws clenched firmly, knuckles cracked. The room began to spin, rotating, and with only the dim blue torch light and what was reflected in the pools of blood on the floor, all were hard placed to tell friends for foes.

Harry did what he knew he did best, gliding gracefully into old ways, old talents; he killed the damn fuckers.

Dementors were harder on Harry, more difficult to crush - Harry loathed the Keepers with passion. But these spineless cretins - these bloody Death Eaters - they were_ nothing_ to his memories, to what he'd been through, what he'd endured.

Spells never reached his lips, weaved from his mind without a thought, without hesitation.

Crucio and one was down.

Diffindo.

Engorgio.

Incendio.

Sectusempra - this one he aimed specifically at the tallest, most greasy hooded figure.

Moody shot him an odd side-ways look - Harry pretended he didn't notice.

Harry laughed, his voice ringing about the depth of the room, bitter and malicious - if this was all the Great Lord Voldemort had to offer, he'd be done with the minions by morn. The others, the twelve member's of Dumbledore's highly acclaimed Order, fought along side him, spanning a rough line across the circle of the room, lost in the array of countless doors, their backs to each other, picking off the adversary one by one.

A small brunette fell heavily to the floor beside Harry, dead on impact.

The gathering of Death Eaters was otherwise disposed of, the remaining two turning tail to flee before Sirus and Tonks hit their retreating backs, merciless. They stayed but a moment longer in that room, quickly tending to the wounded, covering their lost ones in transfigured sheets of white, binding the struggles of not-quite-dead captives. Through the doors Harry could hear other sounds of attack, of raging fights. There the team, the former dinner party, was split - diving into groups of two or three, moving each to a room that drew further skirmish. They'd close in on the attacks, meet again at the centre - where You-Know-Who was sure to lurk.

Harry averted his eyes as James gave Lily a quick peck on the cheek, as Sirius clapped a hand to Remus' shoulder and Peter saluted them good evening, farewell - Harry thought he wouldn't mind at all if Peter never came back.

Harry didn't protest when Moody shoved him towards his father and another rounded woman in her early fifties he couldn't name, making their smaller group a trio - ironically, the number Harry was used to working with, counting himself, Ron and Hermione.

"The name's Margaret, lad," the robust woman said, turning to Harry and holding out her hand. Harry shook it, her palm damp and slick.

There were no smiles, no cheer - not a touch of warmth in her voice.

"Hadi," Harry replied, nodding to her.

James cracked a grin his way and pushed on their assigned door, which creaking on its rusted hinges.

They entered uncertainly, wands raised high, and the door cracked shut behind them.

Harry, recognizing the room in an instant, felt a flush of fury, of loss, of terrible despair, creep up tantalizingly behind him.

It was large and dimly lit, sinking to the middle in which stood an ancient crumbling stone archway.

Whispers sang about the room, mesmerizing and lethal.

Harry had a lot of pent up grudge to this room - this damned room, and that damned veil. Harry had never been back here, to the Department of Mysteries and Miseries, had never had a chance, not since that night his Godfather had fallen. Harry wanted to rip that bloody ever-fluttering curtain, smash the fucking archway to oblivion and stomp on the dust - he would have, too, if there had of been time.

It was too late that the shadows grew larger, and they saw that Death Eaters' - four, six, eight - had been in the room all along, hidden in the dark falls of light. Harry drew up a shield around himself immediately, as did James, but Margaret was too old, too tired, too bloody slow -

"_Avada Kedavra._"

And Margaret was dead.

James reacted in venom, pelting an unforgivable green at the one to have taken her down, dodging away to the side. Harry followed suit without a moments hold. They closed off, back to back, picking the ammeter Death Eater's away slowly, dissipating the numbers against them.

And then there were four, a larger facing Harry, three to James.

His father stumbled, and Harry cast a brittle shield over them, though it wouldn't last - three simultaneous disarming spells aimed at Harry and his wand came flying out of his reach.

Leaving Harry wandless, the three resumed a reverent attack solely on James, and unbeknown father and son were separated, Harry left to the mercy of the largest, rounded Death Eater. He shot a series of curses and jinxes towards Harry, who expertly jumped and rolled, but then the Death Eater was closer, and Harry was still on the ground, stretching an arm towards his fallen wand, not quite quick enough to stand.

The larger foe, who Harry thought might be the elder Goyle, snatched up Harry's wand from his feet. Whether it was Goyle or not the larger man towered over Harry then, kicking him hard in the stomach, and Harry heard the sickening crunch of a rib being pushed, bent, _snap_ped. Harry lashed out viciously and the Death Eater backed away a bit, limping, giving Harry time enough to push himself up off the ground, his arms practically trembling, heaving. Harry wished he'd thought to bring a knife, a dagger -_ something_ else.

And then the larger wizard was at him again - seeming to have forgotten his own wand entirely, swinging his huge fist towards Harry's face. Harry ducked, stepping to the side, out of range. But Goyle, or whoever it was, had recovered quickly - far too fucking quickly - and Harry was pushed against the wall, hard, and the Death Eater was kicking him again, _harder_, in the shin - and then another punch was leveled at Harry's head, and this time he definitely couldn't miss.

Harry thought his face was on fire, his left cheekbone welting, his eye swelling fast.

He couldn't see then, he could hardly _breathe_ - and Harry hissed, outraged, and brought both hands up to wrap around the larger man's neck - squeezing, _tighter, tighter, tighter_ …

And the Death Eater, the wizard, the man - he pulled Harry up from the wall, slamming him back into it, once, twice, thrice - and then, in utter desperation and lack of air, he went about doing as much damage to Harry's chest as he could, punching again and again, snapping and crushing several more ribs - but Harry didn't, _wouldn't_ let go, and continued to squeeze, tighter and tighter, forgetting his own pain and holding on, tighter … tighter … tighter …

The Death Eater's face was a purple to rival that of Harry's Uncle Vernon.

And, though Harry struggled in his own flight to gain air, the terrible, revolting stench of urine crafted its way into his lungs, through the room, the fumes gravitating about the struggle, and Harry thought he'd have to let go, he couldn't bare it any longer -

But suddenly, and it took a long minute for Harry to realize what exactly had happened, the Death Eater was rigid, out cold and collapsed on the ground.

James towered over him, a large shard of a plaster raised high in the air - he'd hit the other wizard over the head.

Harry panted, moaning, resting his weight against the damn wall, blood on his skin, in his mouth - trembling, intoxicated with adrenaline. James warily looked upon him, choosing tactfully not to say a word, and reached a hand down, helping him up.

A hasty replenishing spell was cast, Harry grabbed his wand and they spared a last sorrowful look at the elderly witch to have accompanied them so forth, covering her too in the honorary transfigured white sheet. Then they were on their way again, Harry leading the way, picking doors at random, happy for the time to get as far away from that damned room as he could.

"What do they want?" Harry called over his shoulder. He didn't need to explain who 'they' were. "Why are they here?"

"Does there have to be a reason?" James asked him, panting, his tone making it perfectly clear that he did not want to discuss it.

Harry knew an aversion when he heard one - but it mattered little, anyhow - because then his father was pushing gently ahead of him, relief on his sweat beaded features, heading straight for the entrance to the Hall of Prophecies. And so Harry followed him, a hand clamped, grasping on his side, limping slightly. Through another swinging door and then they had found the last, the Hall.

They were one of the final few to reach it.

Harry let his gaze sink into the Hall; as high as a church, filled with nothing but tower-like shelves, cluttered with the dirty, dull orbs that were prophecies. Fights had broken out everywhere; Harry could hear Remus howling, he could see Moody take on five cloaked figures at once, and his mother, Lily, pouncing on any unsuspecting fools to wander too close to Sirius' back. Harry steadied himself, leaping into the fight on instinct. James mirrored the action.

Harry took no notice of his counterpart father after that, flinging death curses at anyone in stealthy black attire. Few escaped the murderous shots of lovely, tantalizing green.

Spell-fire flew over his head and Harry dived behind a row of shelves, jets of blue, red and green trailing his movement.

He allowed himself a brief, shaky rest to catch his breath, kneeling on the dusty floor, his gaze unfocused on the rows upon rows of small shiny globes … of prophecies. And a name caught his eye - _but it couldn't be_, Harry thought. And then he was standing, leaning, reaching a hand out to snatch the globe-like-sphere from the shelf.

He held it out precariously on the tips of his fingers, the etched words glaring at him, taunting, the battle momentarily forgotten.

_M.G.T to R.A.B_

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

Was it meant for him or his counterpart, though? _Surely not_ me, Harry thought, hoped - prayed fruitlessly to any who might have been listening. He seriously considered smashing the damned thing right then and there.

_Not another fucking prophecy._

But then someone screamed, the sound loud and grating and Harry, deftly grounding his molars together, was brought back from the thought, back to the endless rows of shelves - back to the wand pointed at his heart. He started, catching his own wand from its holster.

"Bellatrix," Harry greeted politely.

Her white mask hung swinging about her neck. He stuffed the dusty sphere, the prophecy, gruffly into the pocket of his robes.

She hadn't missed a beat.

"Give it to me," she spat, her voice as cruel, as cold as always. Her arm stretched up, palm out. She waited.

"Make me, then," Harry snarled. "If you dare."

Bellatrix growled deep in her throat, and the duo engaged in a steadfast duel, stepping from the rows back into the foray of fire.

She was good, Harry knew - he'd fought her countless times before in his own world and she'd always proved to be a worthy opponent, but perhaps not _quite_ in his league, his calobah. But there was something _different_ about this Bellatrix from what Harry recognized, definitely less mad, more sexually enticing. Harry, lost in his own memory, didn't realize that he had her backed against a shelf, that they were pressed dangerously close together, nor that he had paused in his attack, and the two had made stilted eye contact, Harry's wand folded neatly into the base of her throat.

Harry held his breath, and she reached a hand out to touch his throbbing eye, dark with bluish-purple bruising.

"Do I know you?" she asked him, perplexed.

Harry shook his head negatively, and then she was leaning forward, lost as he was, as though she might -

The exchange would have only lasted a minute, if that, before an explosion and further screams resonated through the chamber. Harry felt he'd wasted his time enough with Bella, and finished the match with an irritably grounding curse, throwing her into unconsciousness.

He didn't want to kill her - not yet.

Harry wanted Bellatrix Lestrange, his Godfather's murderer, to suffer much more, much worse fate than that.

Bellatrix was on the floor then, motionless, and Harry had already half turned away to find another obstacle, or distraction, but -

He could hear the cackle, the high pitched laugh, before any sight ever greeted him.

Lord Voldemort was there, in all his dire, hideous glory.

Harry felt bile rise in his throat, smothering, overpowering his taste, his hearing, his vision.

_Crucio._

Love had conquered Tom Riddle in the end - but it was hatred that had driven Harry, that had given him the means, the skill, the encouragement to do what he had done. Pure, unhindered, vehement hatred. And Harry felt it grow in him again then, as the vision that befell him leveled, balanced.

His mother, among many others, sprawled on the floor - crying, screaming in agony.

And Harry had no control over what happened then - he never even realized it was he that had done it till precious moments too late, and he chaotically reined in the leash of magic that had escaped him. Uncontrolled magic threaded the air, shelves that made up the hundreds of rows split, cracked, broke under the tenuous pressure. And every last sphere, every prophecy in the hall, sang of silver light and cracked, hissed and exploded.

Suddenly the Hall of Prophecies was no more.

Harry struggled again to breathe, to hold himself upright -

All around the hall the fighting had stopped, witches and wizards paused to hold shields against the heavy downpour of sharp glass, curved shards sinking deep into anything they breached. Harry gently prodded the warm globe in his pocket - the only remaining prophecy in the now ruined, utterly useless department.

Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, was beyond livid.

"And who might you be?" his voice was a deadly purr, a poisonous hiss, echoing across the hall.

Harry glared. "What's it to you, Riddle?"

There was no need, no purpose for any answer. No more words were wasted - the Dark Lord wanted one thing only, now - to see Harry dead. And _quickly_.

No-one dared to interfere as the Dark Lord glided off a podium to come within better range of Harry, who squared off where he stood, a bitter grin stretched across his face - oh, he'd enjoy this, killing the bastard again.

Before he had done it for Light, for vengeance of loved ones, for the better grace of the world.

Now it was all for himself.

They started slow, a pass here and a parry there. Spells were thrown and caught too quickly for any to follow, fast becoming a blur, a haze. Harry blocked and shielded, locked to defensive, allowing Riddle to become misguided, misjudged, overconfident - to underestimate him. And then he struck.

_Crucio. Crucio._

_Crucio._

Voldemort had to pause, had to shield the overwhelming, relentless onslaught.

Harry knew he'd block it, but he couldn't help himself then, couldn't hold back from the look of outrage that was sure to purge that ghastly face if he ripped out -

_Avada Kedavra._

Voldemort stepped to the side, as Harry had known he would have, but he looked back at Harry then with renewed, consuming loath -

No-one - _no-one_, not Dumbledore, not anyone - had got that far, that close, in a long, long while.

Harry laughed, stumbling back, reveling in the sound, and continued his unspoken attack. He drove Voldemort back, pelting the killing curse again and again, vigor never resting.

And then the impossible happened - Tom Riddle faltered.

Harry leapt closer, closing the distance between them.

He could have reached out an arms length and snapped the disgusting split-nostril nose, he was that near - near enough to throttle.

Voldemort glowered over him, and the spell-fire flew once again.

A burning hex, a testicle sting, an acid reflux, a disembowelment charm - Harry's imagination knew no bounds.

Together they danced, the world's best, stepping the line and teasing the edge.

At the same moment both took a tethering step forward, and found each other an inch apart.

Harry brought up a shield to block the killing curse hurtled his way, and feigned one of his own, preparing for one more torturous, more painful in retaliation.

Harry was aware of revived noise about the Hall, but he paid it no heed - he was closer now, so close he could taste it.

But then magic rippled the air again, throwing them back. It was over as fast as it had begun. Harry hit a pile of rubbled wood, jagged spikes piercing through the skin of his back, cutting through a good amount of tight, baring muscle. Harry cried out in pain, his body heaving, protesting to any more ill use. His exhausted limbs refused to give him any leeway, stubbornly forcing him to stay where he was.

"Halt!" a voice called out over the mayhem, as if Harry _could_ have even moved then anyway, and both Harry and Voldemort held still at the stalemate, looking about angrily to find the one who had yelled, who had interrupted and thrown them so violently opposite ways.

Albus Dumbledore had arrived at last, a fresh group of Auror's in his wake.

Voldemort spared Harry one last look of unhindered outrage before calling the retreat, and the array of Death Eater's popped away concurrently.

A sigh of relief escaped the Ministry.

The Order gathered, looked completely disheveled, half unbelieving that any of them were alive at all. The mess was left to Albus and the Ministry to clean, thankfully; Healers, Aurors, and other important looking Officials clambered about, doing this and that, but nothing to any real mends. Nothing could claim back the lives they had lost.

Strained words drifted about the Order as Harry watched them, and he finally found it possible to poise himself up, far too late, to join them. Harry hobbled uncertainly to where they stood, completely vulnerable and unsure of himself - maybe he'd overreacted, just a bit - let his frustration and anger power him instead of rationality. He almost snorted at that thought. Harry didn't think he liked them knowing what he was capable of. Few smiles welcomed him then - a number seemed in terrified awe. Words strung the air, but their meaning meant nothing to him, and Harry was unable to make any sense of the speech.

He could feel Sirius' penetrating gaze, never wavering in its judgment. Harry struggled to subdue a surge of worry that Sirius might have witnessed his exchange with Bellatrix, that he might have taken Harry's moment of hesitation to mean something it didn't, and a heavy guilt lay blanket on him, shifting to rest from its dormant state.

Practically every set of eyes drew a constant flick towards Harry - who was struggling even to stand, though trying not to show it - and seeing him in a new light, then, one Harry wasn't sure he really wanted to be used as such a filter.

The string, the portkey, was produced again from someone's pocket - Harry couldn't see Shacklebolt - and passed around the group. Harry grabbed onto it, forcing himself not to stare at the dried blood caked onto his hands, stuck to his skin, between his dirty nails. Thirteen they had come, and nine they left, back to Godric's Hollow to floo on from there.

The tug to Harry's navel, pulling on his shattered ribcage, was horrible unjustly torture. But when they landed Harry knew he was at the stage where pain didn't matter anymore, anyway - it was everywhere, in everything, in anything he could see or hear or taste or feel, every word he might have spoken.

Then they had landed in the comfortable lounge room Harry had stood in not three hours before.

When he stepped forward Cho caught him, and Harry couldn't have ever been so glad to see her.

Harry's old scar twinged painfully, his stomach tossing, his vision a blur.

Déjà Vu.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Ah, so there we are. Phew. I have really been dreading writing this - I'm not all too confident with fight scenes and the like. I hope it wasn't too awful, anyway ;) The reviews have been so wonderful, so motivating - I really don't deserve you guys. Thankyou all_ so_ much!


	9. Wherein Repercussions Haunt

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

_Italics on pre-tense, emphasis and thoughts. _

**…Chapter Eight…**

**Wherein Repercussions Haunt**

_He came onto the street corner with a soft, resounding crack. A snap of his fingers and all yellow light seeping from the lampposts cut out. The stars above were strangely muted, heeding the irrevocable turns of night. _

_All was dark. All was quiet. _

_The street, aroused, visibly shrunk in his glorious, odious wake. _

_Bile raised, burning in his throat, his stomach churning with blindly suppressed revulsion. He felt tainted, contaminated, just to be in such close quarters with them, to breathe in the same air - the cretins, the scum, the _muggles_. Level green garden beds, straight level homes, shiny level cars, littered periodically in a mirage across the dividing wet pavement. _

_Rain pattered down on his cloak. _

_Lord Voldemort stepped forth, half hidden in the animosity of shadow, stopping shortly at the glossy, golden embossed number four. _

_He paused, glowering at the damed house, pure vehement hatred burning, consuming his being. _

_His servants - his followers - were gathered there already, waiting, lurking about the impeccably tidy - impeccably dull - front garden. _

_Joining them a group of seven wizards was formed - his favored number. _

_No words were spoken, not a sound uttered. Privet Drive slept on, oblivious to the intrusion. _

_It was Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday and they had come to share their coming-of-age congratulations, a buoyant surprise of well-wishers. Tom Riddle laughed. Lord Voldemort toyed impatiently with his wand. _

...pppqqq...

Harry awoke with a start. He was having nightmares again. _Just nightmares_, he reminding himself calmly. _Only nightmares_.

He tried to believe it. Only lies don't work so well when you're telling them to yourself.

_And you can only run so far before the past catches up. _

Harry hadn't left Cho's tiny flat for all of the upcoming week. By Friday, though, he was quite sick of her bed and her dithered mothering - he thought he might strangle her if he didn't get out. The prophecy sat snug in his pocket, untouched, unopened.

He snuck away when she was in the shower, leaving a hastily scribbled note on the kitchen table.

_Sorry. Got to go out. Will be back soon. _

He almost signed off _Harry_.

And he supposed she might be hurt - but then, she'd just have to get over it, wouldn't she?

He enjoyed the casual stroll back up to the castle, happy to be outside, to revive in the unforgivingly cold, brittle breeze.

When Mcgonagall had sternly told him to take the week off, Harry had been more than obliging. But the Ministry had made him restless, had made him consider that he might have been wasting his time at Hogwarts. Harry had thought he wanted to rest, to relax in this world, but now he wasn't so sure at all - he wasn't really sure of anything anymore, he could hardly remember who he was, who he had been. And that was what angered - or _frightened_ - him the most.

Time had always been of vast importance to Harry - he'd never quite felt like he had enough of it, nor had his fair share. He hated to see it go to waste. The seconds of peacetime were slowly wearing down, cheering for Harry's prolonged downfall - for the truth of his past to finally resurface.

As he went past Hagrid's hut, Harry had to squelch the desire to drop in and pay a visit. As he went past the Quidditch pitch he could think of nothing he'd like better than to carelessly grab a broom and fly about all day. Harry strung his hands in his pockets, determined not to look back at the pitch, at the terribly tempting sky and the green, green grass. As Harry clambered up the first lot of stairs into the castle, he spotted Hermione and was about to call out - but this was not his Hermione.

Harry didn't know her. She didn't know Harry.

As he entered the Great Hall, Harry thought on the first niggling premises that he might have made a mistake in venturing back in time, to where he had landed in this world.

The thought did not bode well at all.

...pppqqq...

_Harry hadn't slept in seven days, seven nights, one hundred and sixty eight hours. _

_He considered such a luxury beyond his worth, if sleep kindly chose to give in to his nightmares, which it didn't often - time was of the essence. _

_He lit a cigarette, nicked from his cousin, inhaling deeply. _

_Smoke rippled through the air, obscuring the small room. _

_Heavy lidded eyes glazed for a moment, flicking from the stacks of grimy parchment in his lap to look at the old clock on his bedside table. Soon his friends Hermione and Ron would be arriving, and together they would leave in the dead quiet of morn for adventures to come, in the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, leading to the final destruction of their world's greatest evil. The idea hadn't seemed so stupidly ridiculous, so fanciful or surreal until that moment when Harry really considered it. _

_Only, now, Harry had begun to feel resentful. _

_Why should it be _his _obligation? Why should it be _he_ to constantly risk life and limb alike? What did he care, really? _

_He was tired of the weight, of the loss. Of sleepless nights and the damned Greater Good. The task lay daunting at his feet, but Harry felt no incentive, no bloody compulsion - _

_He thought of running away, starting a new life, enjoying what was left of his short-lived youth. _

_The flickering light Harry had read by suddenly popped out, bathing his surroundings in a taunting, eerie dark. _

_Startled, Harry reached for his wand. _

...pppqqq...

"Professor Evans!"

Harry turned, spotting Neville and Ron … and _himself_, hurrying up the corridor towards him.

"Professor," the blond Harry Potter began reverently. "Where have you _been_? Divination classes were cancelled for the entire week!"

Harry was startled. _Why did they care?_

"It's none of your concern, really," Harry told them, smiling - not just a little suspicious, as it could only do to be cautious right then, with them particularly. "Health troubles, as it happens. I'm back now."

Neville positively smirked - a sight Harry was definitely not accustomed to. "But we _know_, Professor."

Ron leaned forward conspiratorially, and confessed, "We know all about it."

Harry had no idea what the hell they were talking about. He raised an eyebrow. "And?" he prompted.

The three students exchanged a knowing glance.

"We've gotten much better at Occlumency, sir," the other Harry began, most politely. "And we thought you might … well …"

"See," Ron interrupted his friend. "We heard all about how you fought at the Ministry - "

"And Professor Lupin," Neville explained, "isn't exactly … forthcoming in that - "

Neville cut himself off abruptly at the sight of McGonagall storming down the hall, headed straight for them. Harry thought he was quite relieved to see her - he wasn't much sure if he wanted to hear what Neville had been so close to spilling, somewhere along the lines of a request that he might further teach them the _darker_ shades of magic - which he certainly wouldn't. No way in hell!

"Ah! Evans, there you are," Minerva began, in a tone that rather implied she had known exactly when he had entered the castle, that he had been precisely _there_, and had come specifically to fetch him. "I must beg a word, if you aren't too busy - "

"No, of course not," Harry told her, plastering a look of apology to the three boys.

"Well then," Minerva nodded primly to the students, and gestured back the way she had come.

Harry waved goodbye to his counter-friends, favoring them with a roll of his eyes towards Minerva, and he followed her, trailing slightly, half way to the Headmaster's office before it clicked where they were headed. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, a warm trickle of dread filling him.

"What was it then, Minerva?" he asked. "What can I help you with?"

Mcgonagall stopped, turning to face him.

"I don't think," Harry continued slowly, "I much care for seeing Albus right this moment, see?"

Evidently by the tight pull of her ever-thinner lips, Minerva didn't see at all. "Albus would like a chat."

Harry didn't budge. "I have a sore throat."

She raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to go to the Hospital Wing, then? I can tell Albus to meet you there."

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. It was a lost cause, then. He shrugged, taking her lead, and made his own way along the corridor, up another two flights of stairs, and stopped at the familiar gargoyle. When he looked back Minerva had gone. Harry stretched his shoulders, reinforced his Occlumency shields, and confidently made way to face his upcoming, inevitable doom.

Past the shifting gargoyle, up the steep winding steps, and then he was knocking steadily on the door.

Without so much as an answer, the door had swung wide open, inviting him in.

"There you are, Mr Evans," Dumbledore greeted him, seated comfortably at his desk on a hideously-bright scarlet armchair. "So nice of you to join me!"

Harry tried to grin - it came off more like a smirk.

"Please, do make yourself comfortable," Dumbledore went on, fussing around with his desk. "Have a seat, have a lolly - would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you," Harry replied, his voice a little more terse than he'd have liked.

"Well then," Dumbledore leant back, suckling on a lemon drop. "I trust you've had adequate time to recover?"

"Yes, of course," Harry said, sitting himself down opposite the large, imposing desk. It was a struggle to keep his eyes from drifting to that draw … the draw with the time turner that had gone so wrong, had landed him back here - in this office, now, of all the irony. He wondered if Albus had known it was bogus, had known where it would really take him. Harry supposed he could never be sure.

"Good, good." Dumbledore paused. "You did a marvelous job at the Ministry, as I'm sure you well know - marvelous indeed."

Harry nodded solemnly, fidgeting impatiently with the hem on his sleeve. He hated waiting like this, knowing and dreading what he knew was to come. Gently, ever so very gently, Harry let a single thought slip from the shield on his mind - _I wish he'd get on with it. _

Dumbledore rustled a messy nest of paperwork in front of him, and began slowly, his voice unassuming, as diplomatic as was possible while still containing a barest hint of command. "Many odd things, Hadi, have happened around you since your arrival."

Harry didn't deny it. He would have if he had thought he might be able to get away with it - but it was preposterously useless.

Dumbledore sent him a piercing glance, wriggling his nose in discomfort. "And there are certain … discrepancies concerning your background."

"Oh?" Harry asked, shifting in his seat, inclining the older man with a warm, earnest smile.

Inside he was positively seething.

"Yes," Albus went on, confirming, "You don't exactly seem to _exist_ now, is that correct?"

Harry shrugged, nonpuzzled, replying in his most evasive Divination-Professor tone, "Nothing is ever as it seems."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Right is right. Wrong is wrong. You, Mr Evans - you have some explaining to do."

Harry let himself grimace, bringing his gaze to fall awkwardly on the floor. "I fear it a tale far too gruesome to grace this beautiful room, or your own young, naive ears."

Albus raised an eyebrow.

Harry changed tactics, diverting once again to the role of his teaching position, coming up with the biggest nonsense he could. "The world does work in mysterious ways, Albus. I could not fathom to understand it."

"And I would not dare to try," Dumbledore insisted. "But that gives me no answer to who you really are."

"I am an a figment of your imagination," Harry told him.

Albus didn't look impressed. Not at all.

"I am whoever you want me to be," Harry tried again.

A flick of malice might have past over his face - or it could have been a trick of the light.

"I'm an enigma?" Harry asked, scowling.

"That you are," Albus agreed. "Rather odd, too, the surname _Evans_…" he stopped, again changing tracks. "And you do rather … _resemble_ … James Potter. Don't you think so?"

Harry frowned, pretending to give the statement deep consideration. "No," he answered simply, shrouding the Headmaster in a wide grin.

But Dumbledore, instead of throwing Harry out of his office or out of a job as Harry had half hoped he would have, just smiled that damn grandfatherly smile, tossed his beard over his shoulder, and moved on to his next point.

"You're not really from Italy, are you?"

Harry could see no sense in denying it now. "No, I'm not. I'd have thought that was painfully obvious."

"A little bird," Dumbledore began slowly, wringing his hands in his lap, "Just happened to come by a certain … memory … you retain."

"_What_?" Harry cried, exasperated. "Who? And what kind of memory? I feel that a complete violation of my rights, Dumbledore, and if you even think - "

"It was a memory," Albus continued cheerfully, speaking right over the top of Harry, "of what appears to be your sorting at Hogwarts."

Harry stopped, grounding his teeth together, making no sign of giving any answer.

"But you've never attended Hogwarts as a student, have you Hadi?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Of course not," Harry scoffed. "Evidently, there's been some sort of mix up." Harry sniffed indignantly.

"No," Dumbledore carried on morosely. "But there has not."

Harry twiddled his thumbs, eyeing his wristwatch. The seconds ticked by torturously, devastatingly slow.

"Would you care to shed some light on that, Mr Evans?" Albus asked him kindly.

"No, I wouldn't!" Harry muttered. "Would you care to quit your insufferable meddling and let me be!"

"Have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix, my boy?" Dumbledore asked, heedless, twinkle twinkling madly.

"Yes," Harry hissed, dropping the act altogether. He'd quit. He'd go work in a circus, or a strip club, or anything - anything but face these grueling, pestering answers. "I know exactly what the Order is."

Albus pretended to look startled. Harry pretended to look like he couldn't care.

"And how is that, may I ask?"

"No, I'm afraid you may _not_ ask, Albus," Harry leant forward in his chair, whispering, "I'm sworn to a code of secrecy." He winked. "But you understand, don't you Albus?" before he could reply, Harry finish, "Oh, good. I knew you would."

Dumbledore steadied himself, his scrutiny never in falter. "Briefly surmised, we are a group dedicated to bringing about the fall of Lord Voldemort -" here Albus paused, waiting for Harry to shudder. He didn't, so Albus quickly moved on, "In light of the most recent battle at the Ministry, I would very happily like to extend an invitation for you to join us in this most worthy cause."

Dumbledore beamed.

Harry scowled.

No, no - not again. He wouldn't take that path _again_. It was alone or nothing, his way or nothing, his life and no others.

He was a fool to have thought that he'd be anything but normal here, that he could make any semblance of an ordinary life for himself.

"Will you join us then, Hadi?" Dumbledore asked him. "Lend your services to the Light and I promise you now there will be no further questions."

"I wish to be of no part in your twisted little games, old man," Harry practically spat.

He stood up to leave - oh, let Albus _try_ and stop him.

"And the prophecy, Hadi?" Dumbledore enquired merrily. "Have you looked at it yet?"

Harry thought, given a choice between throttling Cho or Dumbledore, right then he'd do in the latter gladly.

_How the hell could the old codger know about that? And it hadn't read 'Hadi Evans', no - the prophecy was titled to none other than Harry Bloody Potter. _

"No."

"And will you?"

"That is _none_ of your bloody business, and nor will it ever be."

"But how can you claim that if you don't know what it predicts?" Albus asked.

Harry turned back on his heel, glaring and scowling and sneering all at once - Snape would have been terrified, in bountiful trembles of his own influence. "What does it say, then?" he asked unconcerned, a picture bluff. "_You_ tell _me_."

Albus reached forward into the glass cup on his desk, extracting another lemon drop.

Harry had to hold back a growl of impatience - no, it was useless. Harry could see it for himself, anyway. No matter. No worry.

"Am I to return to work on Monday, Professor?"

Albus considered him a moment.

"Yes, certainly."

And, without a backwards glance, Harry left.

He didn't feel the least bit childish for slamming the door after him, and thoroughly convinced himself afterwards that Phineas had _not_ started blabbering the moment he had left. It didn't do any good, anyway.

...pppqqq...

_As the pulsing stroke of midnight hit, tightly woven threads between fate and fatality were pulled, stretched and torn - vague, hazed, blurred to incomprehensible focus. It was July 31st. The wards on number four, erected so many years previous, diminished then into the night to seek refuge in stormy grey clouds above. _

_Harry Potter, lying awake in his bedroom, felt his stomach toss, sensing the gathering of Darkness and mayhem. _

_Lord Voldemort entered the house alone, confidence in his stride, purpose lingering tight on his hold. _

_Harry swore and his scar started to tingle, to itch, to burn. _

_The party in Black stayed outside, passing blood-red champagne between them, the inevitable taste of victory dizzying their vision, their withering rationality. _

_The sky darkened then, warning those below, bleak and ominous. _

_Lightening cracked and thunder broke. _

_The Dark Lord carried down the hall without pause, up the stairs and along the corridor. He reached the door of the smallest bedroom and raised one fist, knocking firmly on the flimsy wooden paneled door. _

_"What do you want?" Harry called out softly. _

_The door creaked open, rusty on its hinges. _

_Emerald met crimson. Recognition hit. Curses flew. _

_The ceiling came crashing down about them. _

_The rain had stopped abruptly. _

...pppqqq...

Harry usually felt it took an age to reach his office, high up in the North Tower as it was.

It seemed then, though, in such a fit of confusion-mingled anger, it had taken him no time at all. Too little time, really, Harry thought as he paced his classroom, throwing spells this way and that to tidy the mess his students had made in consequence to their return of 'dull textbook readings' that week.

He felt at home there, now, and Harry wasn't sure he liked that at all. He couldn't possibly stay at Hogwarts - not after that. Not for much longer, anyway. After his chat with Albus, the brutal truth of his situation had finally sunken in, taken its toll.

Harry had thought he was alone before, in a world where everyone he had loved was dead - but he realized now that he had been wrong, so very horridly wrong. That they'd never left him till he had left them, that people had always been watching over him as long as Harry held true to their memory. In this Brave New World he could hope for no embrace, not when he couldn't even give people a chance to understand him. There was no appreciation, no respect. It didn't matter what he had been through, or what he had accomplished - none of that mattered anymore, not to anyone else.

No-one wants to adopt a teenager.

He could right all the wrongs, reinvent the history books, become again the worlds hero, their savior.

Only if he wanted to.

But it still wouldn't mean anything, because he couldn't have his parents back and he couldn't have Ron or Hermione the same as before.

Because they _were_ dead to him, they _were_ gone, and were not coming back - he had to accept that.

So what did any of it amount to, really?

What was the point in doing it all over?

...pppqqq...

_Harry leant back against the door, breathing hard. The familiar sight of blood had soaked and spilt itself everywhere, into every crevice, every crack; in his hair, his teeth, his nails. It clung to his skin, stuck to his clothes. Chancing a glance out of his window, Harry was startled to see a group of Death Eaters sitting on the front lawn of his relative's house, playing a game of exploding snap. _

_His eyes unwillingly carried on to the robes crumbled on the floor of his bedroom. _

_Harry smiled malevolently, his mind positively ticking. _

_He could hardly believe he was considering it, but then … it was tempting. All too bloody tempting. _

...pppqqq...

Dumbledore hadn't moved, had barely _twitched_, since the younger man had left him.

For the first time in a long, long while Albus was quite at a loss for words.

...pppqqq...

Draco Malfoy collapsed into the most equitable chair of the Slytherin common room. Everyone else had long ago retired to bed - he was alone.

He liked it best that way.

Sweat stung on his forehead, stuck the cloth of his shirt to his chest, wriggled about his boots, slimy between his toes.

Lord Voldemort it was, then. Forever after. No regrets, no going back. He had made his choice and he would stick to it, hold true to the end.

So mote it be.

And his first assignment, his first ever mission, had been stentoriantly announced: the mysterious Professor Evans.

Draco was terrified.

...pppqqq...

Harry, tired of the day and all of its ill comings, tried time and time again to reach sleep. But it wouldn't come, adamantly desisted to grant him peace.

His scar twitched. His mind convulsed.

In the pit of his stomach he felt sick, queasy. A feeling of foreboding doubt lingered in his mind, refusing to be suppressed.

The prophecy sat glaring at him from his desk, gaining new dust. Unopened. Waiting.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Thanks again for reading ;) Reviews are very welcome.

xxoo


	10. The Way We Get By

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world. Pity the bloody time-turner isn't working right…

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**…Chapter Nine…**

**The Way We Get By**

The cold dreary days stumbled on in dull monotony, each turning slightly warmer than the last with every begrudge-full step closer to Spring. The Quidditch season kicked in, flying past in a whirlwind rush almost unnoticed by Harry, uncared for. Remus Lupin began a dueling club for all students from second year and up. Harry never came to watch either - he thought about it, in both prettily, meticulously wrapped cases ... but he didn't go.

Shutting himself alone in his tower fast became habit, a guilty retreat sulking into the deeper reaches of his mind.

Harry told himself he liked the distance, the solitude, the hollow, empty echo of peace and quiet.

Sometimes he believed it.

And not an hour trickled slowly by that he didn't think of the damn prophecy, hidden masterfully under his pillowcase.

Harry had all but forgotten about his other promise to Remus, to use his Boggart of the Demetor shape to help the other's seventh year class learn the Patronus charm, until Lupin politely reminded him early one breakfast-time. Harry obliged, a little reluctantly.

On the lesson that made his first appearance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry knew he rather regretted ever making the commitment - he had _always_ loathed commitment. Harry tried to think of a way to get out of it, and carefully made several delicate plans of grand escape - but then, looking fondly around the old room, on a whim decided he'd do the stupid class anyway.

The students filed in, eyeing him warily, and Remus predictably began the class with a lecture.

Harry payed him no notice, taking great care to pick at his thumb whist examining Ron intently under his lashes. And staring at Ronald then, Harry began to have doubts. It had been years and years since he'd had to face a steely Boggart (as ridiculous and unintimidating now as they were) - but what if his greatest fear had changed?

What would he do if something else wholly embarrassing materialized in the classroom?

The form of Voldemort as hideous as he hadn't yet become to this world?

Or Cho in another hair-tearing hissy fit?

He needn't have worried, though.

Harry barely remembered what proceeded after that, hardly cared for the odd looks and whispers that never ceased to follow him, shade his every breath, every movement - whatever world he happened to flock to. Lupin had Harry sit opposite his desk, his back to the noisy grinding chatter of the class, an ornate little liquor cabinet that housed the Boggart perched dauntingly opposite him.

Then lesson carried on to be a bloody boring nightmare if there ever was one.

Harry simply sat there, using the empty space in front of him on the desk to mark a hefty stack of fifth year reports. The Boggart came again and again from his cabinet at Lupins' determined will, each time first spotting Harry and morphing to a Dementor, one that came not even mildly close to the terror reined by the real thing. And each time the 'Dementor' was plummeted with a handful of pitiful wisps, wannabe Patronus' in a foggy peal-white haze.

Lupin sung praise and the class greedily lapped it up.

Harry hit a new low of dissatisfaction.

Privately he thought their efforts quite pathetic, and for some time entertained the notion of telling the class exactly that. A dim hope whisked through his mind breifly, wishing that one of his swelling Divination students might become bored enough to try their hand at reading him.

All in all, Harry remained quite disappointed - and quite sure that the Ron and Hermione in his own world had long bested their counterparts here. He didn't consider this opinion to be just slightly biased.

For three nights after Harry took the prophecy from under his pillow to let it rest in his hand, and he pretended to debate what the hell to do with it, pretended like it was really a choice he had yet to make.

Harry understood that prophecies were not a definite fact, that they were liable to change and varying interpretation, perception.

If anyone would be familiar with this it was he.

But that didn't stop him wanting to know what it said, nor the traitorously reasonable feeling that he'd probably be better off throwing it out of the window, which never could quite quell Harry's capricious nature. And so as he lay awake into the deeper reaches of night, glaring spitefully at the unfamiliar ceiling that wasn't really so unfamiliar anymore at all, and he tried to make a decision wherein he lost and won either way, a decision that had really been made from the moment his eyes caught sight of the bloody thing.

It was - of course - inevitable, really.

Harry was just stalling, just creating another obstacle to further place his unease, and he knew it, as well as he knew that drawing the time out only made it more painful and pressured.

Though he couldn't help but fantasize, couldn't stomp the tempt that befell with a tantalizing hope - that maybe this was it, that it was what he'd been waiting for and why he had landed in this wayward world in the first place - that perhaps it would be the conclusion to all of his long unanswered questions, a meaning at last to the haughty, splintered, maddening madness.

And he couldn't stand it if he were to be let down _again, _if he was wrong. But he knew, really, that nothing could bring him what he ultimately sought.

Dead is dead.

Inevitable. Irrevocable.

Scrunching his eyes shut, Harry closed his sweaty palm around the orb, tightly squeezing. Gently he let the trickle of hot, vehement anger purge through him, absorbing the pent up injustice, the angry frustration, his ridiculous longing to be _needed_ again, to be with his ever loved ones like before, like it had always been - and the globe heated, buzzing, sticky and sickly in his sweat dampened palm.

And Harry threw the prophecy as hard as he could.

He watched as it collided against the far wall of his rooms, shattering into a thousand tiny shimmering pieces.

Harry fought the last urge to cover his ears, to deny the prophecy its right in his hearing, but he was too damn curious, as always had been the near death of him, and it was there already, broken in useless shards, creeping up towards him ...

And the words wove themselves around the stone walls of the room, opaque silvery threads of prediction.

_Called down by those whom know him not, the one with the power, with purpose, with knowledge of victory ... he faces a choice ... an alternate to linger ... options, past, closes in ... he has the power to vanquish, to destroy; but there is more than one way in which this might be done ... a path must be taken, where the Dark Lord will meet his equal ... it comes with Him ... a choice. Neither can live while the other survives._

Harry feels trapped, suddenly. Claustrophobic in his own skin.

He needs to break out.

...pppqqq...

By the achingly tedious end of that month Harry had become more than a little tired of avoiding them; Neville, Ron, and the dreadfully annoying blond Harry Potter that had taken to trailing his _every _bloody move.

When they rose their hands in his class for assistance, Harry dutifully ignored them. When they ran into him in the hallway, he made plaintive excuses and fled. When they tried to gnarl his attention in the Great Hall, he decidedly remained politely oblivious. No-one was fooled in the slightest. Harry was quite proud, really, of how long he had managed to hold out - it was on a particularly hot day, the air thick and suffocatingly humid, where the trio finally got the better of him. When they cornered him in his office, Harry couldn't think of a way fast enough to get rid of them.

"Professor," Neville tried, talking right over Harry's fumbled explanation of needing desperately to be elsewhere. "Will you ... Will you teach us?"

Harry raised an eyebrow accusingly. "I was under the impression that I already taught you, Mr Longbottom."

Ronald blinked. "No! No - "

"No, I mean - " Neville paused, his voice trailing off.

Harry sighed. "Teach you what, then?" he asked, feigning negligence, refusing to meet his student's conspire-bulging eyes.

"How to," Neville started, stumbling -

"How to do the," Ron went on, coming to Neville's rescue but flailing all the same. "Erm ..."

An ugly silence befell them.

It was Harry's counterpart who bravely, heedlessly finished the question. "How to do the _darker_ stuff. Sir."

Harry felt a migraine edge and rip, tearing angrily into his temple, and he groaned then, defeated, dropping the weight of his head to rest in his arms on the desk, gesturing madly with a waving hand for the students to leave, to let him be. For a while then Harry pretended to consider it - but in truth he already knew the answer, had always known it. He thought of the damn prophecy, of the damningly vague implications and meaning.

They wanted Harry to teach them. Someone had to, he supposed.

He'd rather it were him than the temperamental snaps of Moody or twinkling clarity of the damned, belated Dumbledore.

And so teach them Harry would.

...pppqqq...

Lady Catherine, the young witch that hung in the portrait on the North Tower quarters, reported to the Headmaster every morning on Hadi Evans' comings and goings; how his classes ran, how well he slept at night, if and when he appeared upset, angry or cheerful - anything she could manage to read from him, which was unsurprisingly little, and no easy task.

She told the Headmaster that he never combed his hair. That he spent thirteen minutes every evening in the shower. That he had an alarming and scandalous measure of three teaspoons worth sugar with his tea. She told him of the frequent visits Evan spent in Hogsmeade - presumably in residence with that pretty, darling girl Chang. She told Albus of the long, tired scars stretched over his back - and the other scar most wouldn't have been drawn to notice, hidden as it was, residing ambiguously under a tangle of messy black bangs - a peculiar shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead.

And she told him of the new lessons he taught late at night, while the rest of the castle slept peacfully, obliviously.

That his pupils were of the most interesting assortment - though not nearly as interesting nor worrying as the curses they learnt and studied under Evans' antagonized aid. The study group was doing well for itself, too - steadily increasing in persons and level.

Albus Dumbledore, beyond any void of frustration, reached idly for another of the more sour tasting lemon drops on his desk.

It was not going as he had planned - and that, quite simply, wouldn't do at all.

And so time then it was, finally, to encourage justice intervene.

...pppqqq...

There was a cheep, wobbly table where a half finished game of chess took rest. Two wine glasses, barely touched; one had the mark of rosy lipstick glossed onto the side, sticking the imprinted texture of a woman's thick lips, still barely visible. A ratty cotton blanket, handmade by the inlaws, draped haphazardly over a stained, threadbare couch.

They were not wealthy people, and no-one would miss them were - when, he corrected - when they were gone. But numbers were numbers, and that night Lord Voldemort demanded a carnage.

The figure looked on past the lounge to the kitchen, stiffened, disgusted and repulsed.

Outside rain beat down lightly, pattering on the rooftop - obscuring scenes of destruction, violence and murder. He could smell the gritty tang of burnt flesh, fresh blood, screams of the innocent, undeserving in torment and pain.

The fireplace roared.

Two muggles, a husband and wife, struggled in their magical binds to no avail, eyes wide with fitful fear. Both were crouched lowly at his feet on the soaked carpet, writhing, near wetting themselves. He had no mercy, no care. No moral whim to allow penance of dignity or pride.

He had simply a point to make, a lesson that of late his better half had forgot.

"My Lord?"

There came no response.

"My Lord?" Lucius Malfoy tried again, faltered, unsure. "What shall we do with these ones, my Lord?"

He glowered, pure malice and hatred heating his face, burning in the depths of unnatural crimson eyes.

The command was a scarcely controlled hiss, eminent of loathing.

_"I care not. Do with them as you like."_

Lord Voldemort was nervous.

Worried, indecisive.

Lord Voldemort was scared he was loosing his nerve.

Lord Voldemort, for the first time in all of his long stretched and far snatching memory, felt nearly _threatened_.

_Hadi Evans_ was the name he went by, the cause of such hindering predicament - the unexpected obstacle that had literally appeared out of nowhere. The plaintive annoyance that harbored more than a good amount of raw talent and unhinged power, one which now so close to the ending finale of light, so close to his triumphant rein, could easily tip scales to his favor - or his demise.

One which must either be swiftly turned or more swiftly otherwise dealt with.

Draco Malfoy, sleep adamantly refusing to take him, shook in his covers in the lower dungeons of Slytherin.

...pppqqq...

"No, no - not like _that_!"

Frustration. Annoyance. A slight reminiscent tone of sad, heartfelt melancholy.

Neville thew his wand to the floor and stalked off, tripping up on a chintz armchair, slamming the door behind him - and stumbling, tripping, falling down the steep winding stairs, one after the other, landing with a hard, merciless _thump_.

Ron chased after him without a backwards glance.

One Harry Potter laughed.

And then the other did, too.

Both realized, surprised, that they might have something in common.

...pppqqq...

"Regulus."

"Albus." The younger man turned away, shielding his face. "He opened it, then?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Good." His left arm jerked back unwillingly. He bit his tongue, stiffened - kept his back ramrod straight. "What now?"

Albus smiled benignly. "We watch. And we wait."

He hesitates, unsure. "Is that all? Should we not - "

"No, Regulus." His eyes hold no twinkle, no spark of normalcy. "You have done quite enough already, and I thank you. But here there is nothing more to be done from our parts - it is up to him. We must be patient, now. He'll come to his sense, eventually. I'm sure of it."

"You're _sure_?"

"I'm sure."

"And then? Is that when ... "

"Yes. I'll bee in touch, when ... _if_."

Regulus nodded, understanding.

...pppqqq...

It's like a game, Cho thinks. A stupid sodding game.

A puzzle, damn near impossible to solve - with more than just a few pieces missing. Lost.

_Lost._

It's the stupid sodding game he's already lost before, and there's so little hope of him finding what he seeks - it makes her so frustrated, so annoyed. Though she will help him, if he ever asks. He never does. She doesn't really believe he ever will. Still, though, she waits patiently and she hopes pertinently, calculates from the intricate complexity of marks in his mind and divides by calm, careful observation. She's confused, now. She doesn't feel quite sure of anything.

Harry pretends to be asleep, but she's not fooled.

They're all pretending, and she's use to this games, his game - these dangerous games they play.

She watches over him instead.

His breath comes shallow and constrained, his chest slowly rising, falling, and rising yet again. He finds rest only in his own prickly cocoon, a tightly knitted chimera. It's impenetrable, and she can't break through, no matter to what ends she'd crawl for him, hanging her head. In subconscious he's free, free from restrains, other's long upheld aspirations. Cho winds a slim hand through his mess of dark hair, rubbing his neck. A smile sneaks to curve upward on his lips.

She realizes he's lost. To her, to himself.

Lost in old memories, old friends, old places. A shadow she cannot think to venture beneath.

And she wonders, spitefully, if sleep is the only place he will ever be happy, ever can be really happy.

Cho thinks she's falling in love - falling, and tumbling, and spinning out of rational, intelligent, logical control. She's quite sure the feeling is not quite reciprocated. He wont catch her. But she's persistent, and naively optimistic. She can work on it and she will. As long as he stays with her, by her side, she doesn't particularly care.

Harry opens his eyes and blinks; once, twice. He stretches, sees her gaze, her eyes unwavering, scrutinizing. He can't help it, then, sleepy still as he is - and he grins.

Cho grins back.

For a long while they both simply lay there, smiling stupidly, each absorbed in their own little playground.

She's surprised when his voice breaks the poignant, cushioned break.

"You said before you wanted to go overseas? To travel?"

"Yeah." She feels a little awkward - she hasn't thought of that since she met him. "What about it?"

He hesitates and tries hard not to show it.

He needs the prompt - "And? Hadi?"

Cho has always enjoyed puzzles: the more difficult the better. She likes complication. She likes to be competitive - and hell, she likes to_ win._

"What would you say if I wanted to leave tomorrow? Would you come with me?"

It's not what she'd expected, sweet Merlin no, but she hardly needs to ponder the question - because there is no question, really.

There never has been, never had been.

"Yes," she says, and she damn well means it. She's half joking when she asks, "When are we leaving?"

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait on this! I've just been terribly busy, and working on a few other fics, and this one kinda sunk through the cracks. You've all been wonderfully kind and patient. Thanks again (as always) for reading ;) And, of course, reviews are very welcome too.


	11. Closing Time, Closing In

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world ... only to find himself stranded in another.

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**…Chapter Ten…**

**Closing Time, Closing In**

Harry couldn't keep the stupid grin off his face.

He leant up against a grimy wall opposite the bathroom, watching crowds of harassed muggles amble slowly past. Few spared him a smile in return - but then, airports were always the most unfriendly, dreary places he had found and the Bulgarians were no different.

Their flight had been delayed.

When he'd suggested the mode of transport to Cho she'd laughed - but the idea had its own appealing implications and merits, and had quickly turned from a flippant whim to a definite must. Crossing a mix of magical and muggle means made the pair much harder to track - although that had not been within the delicate reasoning he'd prepared for Cho. There had been a few complications in acquiring passports and other muggle paperwork, but nothing a trip into Knockturn Alley hadn't easily procured.

And nothing, Harry briskly amended, a quicker mind charm wouldn't if the need pressed.

Money wasn't an issue. Harry figured when they ran out he'd simply 'come by' some more. Legally or not - Harry really didn't give a damn either way. The world did owe him that much, didn't it? A crafty bit of experimenting transfigurement and that problem had been happily quenched.

They hadn't told anyone they were going. Again, Cho had been reluctant - but quickly brought around, by the idea of surprising her friends with exotic postcards of their travel. Harry had written a short note to the Headmaster and left it on his desk up high in the North Tower. His absence would be realized immediately, of course, but Harry guessed it would be a few days before the letter was eventually found and read.

"You ready?" Cho said, walking from the bathroom, breaking through Harry's jumbled stream of thoughts.

Harry turned to her, still grinning, and latched his hand in hers. "C'mon."

"Do you even know where we're going?" Cho asked him as he pulled her through the swarms of people.

Harry laughed. "Not really, no."

Glancing at another screen as they past by, Harry saw their flight had been set back a further two hours. Harry didn't care - nothing could possibly spoil his cheery mood. Following a trail of the most frustrated, bored looking people lead them to where Harry had hoped it would - the bar.

"You want something?" Harry asked.

Cho shrugged. "Might as well," she said.

Harry scrunched his face up at the board, unable to recognize anything in the strangely different tongue. When the bar attender swooped down, jabbering incomprehensibly something or another, Harry simply pointed at a customer to his left who cradled a creamy pink substance, and held up two fingers.

The muggle nodded his understanding and swooped away again.

Harry sighed, sitting himself down on a wobbly stool next to Cho, who had pulled a magazine out from her handbag.

"You lot are English, aren't you?"

Harry turned around to face the customer with the pink drink he'd bought.

The man was gruff, a no-nonsense type with an accent Harry couldn't quite place. He wore the standard sort of muggle clothes, nothing to set him apart from the crowds, as did Harry and Cho. He carried with him a large black briefcase and looked every essence the traditionally boring businessman.

"Yeah," Harry replied slowly, decided he was safe enough to chat to for then. "Our plane's been delayed," he explained, rolling his eyes.

The man nodded. "There's a lot of people fleeing Britain these days, don't you find?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't really know much about what was happening in the muggle society. Still, Voldemort's great rein of terror wreaked havoc in all parts and worlds, didn't it? "I suppose," he finally settled on.

Then the bar attender appeared again, clutching their drinks. Harry was glad for the interruption, and took his time paying the man, hoping the other would let it go. But as soon as the attender left, he started up again.

"Terrorist attacks," the man went on, visibly becoming more agitated. A twitch near his left eye pulsed threateningly. Harry began to regret ever conversing with him - the bloody war always followed him, no matter where he was or who he spoke to. "They're spreading right through Europe now, all these odd occurrences. Something evil's in the air, you mark my word."

Harry nodded, slurping up his drink. It was thick and sweet, and near instantly sent dizzy spells through his head.

"Honeymooning?" the man asked politely.

Harry grinned, eyes quickly flocking to Cho - but she wasn't listening. "No," he replied steadily, fighting not to laugh. _Oh, hell no!_ "No, we're just good friends."

"Where are you headed?"

Harry shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Where aren't we?" he asked back, forcing up a small chuckle. "Anywhere and everywhere," Harry added. They hadn't really made definite plans concerning any such destinations in particular - Harry reveled in the freedom of going wherever and whenever he liked.

The man nodded. "Be careful, mind you," he croaked, leaning forward. "These are dark times, and only darker rest ahead."

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked.

The man raised a heavy eyebrow. "You read the papers, lad?"

"No," Harry told him. Long and dreadful experience with _the_ _Prophet_ had Harry burning any copy he ever laid hands on, up until his time-turning incident. He absolutely loathed any form of media, especially the newspapers, and hoped to avoid it at all costs.

The man's face turned sour, his brow wrinkled tight. "You ought to, you know. Funny stuff - very funny stuff, plaguing these last few years. It'll make even the most unassuming man suspicious these days, the papers will. The arbitrary increases daily. All these strange deaths. Very strange."

Harry made a noncommittal noise and struggled to find something to add. "Where are you off to?" he asked at last, swaying away from the depressing conversation.

The man grinned, revealing several gold-capped teeth. "Where?" he smiled, bemused, clucking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Back home - Ireland. Ought to get going now, really." He stood, swinging back the rest of his drink.

Harry inclined his head, watching as he up and left.

For some reason the man had left a sour taste in his mouth, and Harry didn't like it. His senses honed in, his gaze sweeping the area for any posed threats. There didn't seem to be anything off, but still a sense of ill foreboding lingering in Harry's gut. Quickly finishing his drink, and most of Cho's, Harry stood up.

"I think I'll stretch my legs while we've got a chance," Harry told Cho. "Back in a few, ok?"

"Uhuh," Cho said, never looking up from her magazine.

Harry left her, stalking through the lounge bar. His heartbeat accelerated, thumping harder in his chest. Rounding a corner, Harry made a quick circuit around the bar, back past the bathroom to the gate they were meant to be boarding from. Everything looked fine - not once did Harry spot anyone who looked even slightly out of place, from the magical world or elsewhere. The airport was just as Harry presumed it should have been normally, just as he figured it was every other day.

Instead of putting his worry at ease, however, the tidiness of it all only further increased Harry's sense that something was up - that he was missing something important.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably, as Harry fought to place his concern. He shivered slightly, and that's when the answer made itself obvious -

Someone was watching him.

Harry spun around in a wide arc, his gaze flicking left, right and centre.

Still he couldn't spot a thing. No-one. Nothing. Deciding he was either far too paranoid or whoever was watching him was doing a damn fine job of keeping invisible, Harry's resolve straightened, and he made his way carefully back to the bar.

"Cho," Harry said, grabbing the magazine from her lap.

"Hey!" she cried, glaring playfully. "I was reading that!"

"Come on," Harry said. "We've got to go."

Rolling her eyes, snatching the magazine back, Cho stood up and reached for his hand.

Harry walked quickly, pulling her along behind him. They existed the bar and started out towards the closest door that would take them outside, away from the confines of the swarming airport.

"Hadi - this isn't right," Cho called out. "We're going the wrong way, the boarding gate is back over there."

"I know," Harry told her impatiently. "We're not boarding that plane."

"What?" Cho said. "Hadi - but what about Spain?"

"Fuck Spain," Harry said over his shoulder.

"But _Hadi_," Cho began again, and then she'd stopped. Harry tugged her hand, but Cho refused to budge.

"What is it?" he asked irritably, turning back to face her.

"I don't understand!" Cho said. "You're not making any sense - the flight's been paid for, all our luggage's been put through - "

"It doesn't matter," Harry replied. "Don't worry, we'll fix it up later. Let's just go, alright?"

"What's going on?" Cho pressed, gritting her teeth and glaring at him dangerously.

Harry groaned. "I've got a bad feeling about Spain," he said, quickly lying. "I don't want to go there and I want to get out of here, _now_."

Passing traveler's were giving them looks - most directed none too kindly at Harry.

Cho leaned forward, bringing their bodies closer. "What kind of bad feeling?" she asked softly, eyeing the muggles as they struggled to get around them, Harry and Cho blocking their path.

"You know," Harry snapped, widening his eyes and wiggling an eyebrow. "A bad sort."

Cho frowned. "A vision?" she asked thoughtfully.

Harry smiled, thanking whoever might have been listening that he'd ever considered to apply for the Divination position at Hogwarts. The scraps it had gotten him out of! "Yeah, something like that," Harry said.

"Right," said Cho, taking a deep breath. "Where shall we go, then?"

Harry pointed forward, the way they'd been headed. "I have an idea - let's go back over to the train station and buy two tickets. It doesn't matter where - just the first two out of here."

Cho nodded, swinging her hair out of her face. "Alright," she said. "Sounds like a plan."

She was suspicious again, Harry thought, as they quickly made to leave the tightly crammed airport. But it didn't matter - they were going. As they rounded another corner, though, Harry stopped them again. He really couldn't be bothered edging back out past the guards, navigating around the metal detectors and all that other useless muggle rubbish. It'd take far too long. Looking swiftly over his shoulder again, hoping that no-one would see them, Harry silently spelled the door of a broom closet open and hurried inside, pressing Cho in before him.

"And_ what_ exactly did you lead us is _here_ for?" Cho asked him dryly, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Harry spread his arm over the wall, trying to find a light switch. "So that we can apparate out, of course," he told her, his voice mockingly sweet.

Cho laughed, pressing her body up against his, whispering into his ear, "Oh, is that so?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Harry said, reaching an arm around to wrap behind her waist.

With a loud _crack_ they were gone.

They'd been to the train station before, having caught a ride in from France that way. Harry thought of a dingy little side street he remembered seeing just across from a row of stands where you could purchase hot beverages at the entrance. When he opened his eyes again they were there.

"Right," Harry said, and grabbed Cho's hand again, resuming his brisk pace.

At the end of the street he looked back, but was sure no-one was there. The pursuer thankfully lost at last, Harry pulled Cho quickly away from the empty side street and up into the train station. The platforms were hectically busy, muggles shoving past through thick, heavy crowds. The busier the better, Harry thought. On a large board flashed destinations and times in an array of different languages. Harry scanned the board, reading names off to Cho.

"Portugal, Iceland, Athens," Harry read aloud. "I hear Greece is quite lovely this time of year."

Cho gave him a disinterested look.

"It leaves in twenty minutes, we can make it if we hurry," Harry told her, ignoring her small protest. Grabbing her hand again, Harry dragged Cho off towards the shortest que.

Purchasing their tickets and scurrying off again to the platform was breached with minimal time and effort - a large part of that accounted for a careful bladder-straining hex tossed here and there. Harry kept looking around him, unease rising yet again tenfold. His eyes fixed constantly to a clock, digital numbers passing by horrendously slow.

Five minutes until the train was meant to arrive was when Harry spotted him - the first of many more.

_James Potter. _

What the hell was he doing there, at that particular train station in the middle of Bulgaria?

"Is that - oh, Merlin, look over there!" Cho laughed, incredulity dripping in her voice, laced with her pointed finger. "Is that James Potter? It is, look! Just there!"

No, it was too much of a coincidence -

_Fuck. _

"Should we go and say hello?" Cho asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "He might not appreciate it." At Cho's skepticism, he added, "You know - he is an Auror. Who knows what he's doing here - he might be undercover or something."

_Or he might have been following us_, a voice of stern reason rang loud and clear in his head.

"I guess so," Cho mumbled, but she was standing on her tiptoes, craning her neck to get a better look beyond Harry.

When Harry turned back again James had disappeared.

They were easy to spot, when you knew what you were looking for.

Dedalus Diggle was behind them back at the counter, paying for a ticket. Hestia Jones sat on a bench to their far right, reading a large red book. Emmeline Vance was trying to buy a chocolate bar at a vending machine and not having much luck, as a growing line of muggles growled impatiently behind her.

The whole station was packed full of Order members!

Harry felt a terrible dread begin to boil in his stomach, swelling dolorously. He stared at the ground, trying to look inconspicuous, glaring at the dirty tiled pavement.

How had they possibly been followed? And how had Dumbledore caught on so impossibly soon?

It didn't make any sense - _nothing_ made any sense. The plan Harry had labored on for countless hours had been perfect, failproof! Harry clenched his teeth together hard, biting his nails deep into his palm. He harbored no doubt that they had come to fetch them - to fetch _him_ - and that they would not be happy in the slightest with Harry's plight to be rid of them. No, not happy at all.

He could see Tonks then, inching closer to them, stumbling around a group of giggling schoolgirls.

They were closing in around them.

"Hold on," Cho said slowly. "Is that Mundungus, right over there?"

Harry made no comment.

"I think it is!" Cho added, her voice wavering. "This is weird. Do you think something's up? Perhaps something terrible has happened back home?"

Harry shrugged, thinking fast. He tested the apparation barriers - a brittle ward had been put up. Harry cursed under his breath, trying to look in all directions without it seeming like he was. They could try to pull a runner - they might make it out. Unlikely, but they might. If he abandoned Cho, Harry thought for a moment, before shaking his head. No, that'd only loose him his only friend, and right then Harry had a feeling he'd need all the friends he could get. If they were going down, it had better be together.

They were trapped.

Harry bit his lip, craning his neck out along the train tracks ahead of them, desperately trying to find a way out.

The train would be there in two minutes, if only they could hold out -

"Hadi?" Cho said. "Mad-Eye Moody's walking straight towards us."

And he was, too - long robes swinging, wooden leg clicking rhythmically on the pavement. Harry could see Moody's hand was in his pocket, clutching his wand between worn fingers, ready to fire at the slightest twitch.

"Alastor," Harry greeted reproachfully.

"Evans, Chang," Moody said, nodded his head. "Nice day for it, isn't it?"

"What are you doing here?" Cho asked, taken by surprise.

Harry crossed his arms against his chest, not caring at all for politeness. "What do you want?"

Moody brought his wand out from his robes, and that must have been their signal - because by then the rest of the Order had come forward, forming a tight circle around them. All had their wand pointed straight at Harry, trailing him.

Muggles surrounding the group had stopped to stare and whisper.

"Whatever happened to the Statute of Secrecy?" Harry asked the old Auror dully.

"We're escorting you back to England, Evans," Moody growled, his voice low. "At any cost."

"And what if I don't want to go?" Harry asked, anger welling tightly in his chest. They couldn't do this to him - where was the justice? Morailty? And weren't they meant to be the good guys, anyway? "You can't force me to do anything," Harry spat.

"That's what you think," Moody said lightly. "I know better."

"Is that a threat?" Harry replied snidely, pulling his own wand out from the pocket of his jeans.

"Put it down, now," Moody thundered. "On the ground."

Harry twirled his wand between his fingers, pretending to consider it.

_Fuck that! _

"How about ... no."

"Evans," Tonks called out. "Don't be stupid!"

"Stupid?" Harry repeated, laughing. "_This_ is stupid. I haven't done anything wrong - you have no right to make me do anything at all."

"We do, Hadi, and we will," said a voice behind him. Harry thought it was Vance.

"Look," Cho cried, clutching onto Harry's arm. "This is ridiculous!"

"Step away from him, Chang," Moody ordered. "He's dangerous."

"Dangerous!" Harry cried. "How did you figure that?"

Moody grinned, and was about to answer - but he never got the chance.

_I'll show you dangerous. _

Harry didn't think, spinning in an arc to rattle off spell after spell - nothing too painful, nothing life-threatening. He only wanted to show them all who exactly was in control. But the tip had spurred the Order into action, and they attacked from all directions. Voices lunged at him, dodging his attacks to cut away at his conscience.

"Couldn't let you get far now, could we Hadi?"

"We need you. Don't you understand that?"

"Is it too much to ask, really? To lend your services to our cause?"

"Selfish, that's what it is. You're just _selfish_ - "

"Think of the children! Think of your students! Will you just run away and watch them all _die_?"

"With power comes responsibility. You'd do well to remember that one, Evans."

Their taunts rang about his head and Harry's anger grew - grew and grew and grew, bubbling and curdling and exploding in a bloodthirsty, throttling rage.

"You don't know the first thing about me!" Harry screamed back above the voices. "Who the fuck are you lot to judge - you don't know _anything_!"

"We know what you have to give," someone yelled. "And what you're holding back - you could end this war for us in a moment!"

"I don't owe any of you a thing - not a_ thing_, let alone my _life_!" Harry cried. He was no saint - he would not be their tool, their weapon to be used at will and abandoned soon after.

"Have you no shame?" a woman called out in a tearful, strangled voice. "Have you no love at all?"

"No!" Harry screamed. "No, I don't - _not for any of you_!"

"Coward."

"Bastard."

"_Snake_."

Harry had had enough - enough! "SHUT UP!" he roared, spinning curses left and right, each nastier than the other.

"You can't run, Evans - we wont let you turn your back on us again. You didn't get very far this time, and you'll get less the next," a voice behind him leered unpleasantly.

"I got far enough to know I don't want to go back," Harry shot out, flicking his wand behind him to send a blood boiling curse.

Anger fueled him, spurring on his magic.

Harry was dreadfully outnumbered, he knew - forty to one, or roughly thereabout. He'd seen James before - his father. Was his mother there too? And Sirius, Remus - had they all come to support his capture? To force him on his knees to do their bloody bidding?

The anger churning in the pit of his stomach knew no bounds - Harry had never felt so vile, so riled in all of his life. And the magic pumping in his veins loved it, soaked in the loath and lapped up the injustice.

Harry wanted out. He was sick of it - sick of _everything_; the disguise, the act, the lies.

The world had not embraced as he'd thought it would at all. Far from it - he was only another means to the end for them, and that's all he ever would be. Whether it be Light or Dark, Voldemort or Dumbledore - all they wanted was his power, his weight in their allegiance.

Harry was mad. Very, very mad.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Eek. Sorry for the wait - I think I must say that every other chapter! Many thanks for reading, as always. Reviews are great.


	12. Treachery In Comfort

Summary: (AU) The final battle has been won, but was it worth the cost? Harry, alone and determined, sets out to rewrite history for a better world … only to find himself stranded in another.

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only J.K.Rowling

**…Chapter Eleven…**

**Treachery In Comfort**

His blood turned cold. His ears rang. His eyes stung.

"Hey, Evans - "

The voices spun around in his eardrums, jumbling into a low, grinding silence. Time lapsed into nothing. The world stopped spinning. Nothing made any sense … he couldn't breathe. He couldn't stand to _listen_ anymore.

The train was coming - late, as usually predicted - thundering loudly down the tracks.

The assault continued, spell fire turning in every which way, ripping and biting savagely through the air. Harry swung his wand in another arc, forming a small golden dome around himself. Nothing could get it - not until it broke. Cho was still beside him, with her own wobbly, rather feeble looking shield in comparison. She was in the way, if he were to be perfectly honest - in _his_ way, more hindrance than any little help.

Harry pointed his wand at the bench where Hestia Jones had sat, just moments before.

And BAM.

The vending machine. BAM.

The barrier between platforms - BAM.

Pandemonium reined; debris fell from the sky, planks of wood and crumbling brick and Mars bars. A Malteser hit Dedalus Diggle square on his forehead. Tonks tripped and slipped on a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

The muggles began to panic.

_"What's happening?"_

_"What was that? That light?"_

_"Aliens! Aliens are attacking!" _

_"Help!"_

_"HELP!!"_

_"AAHHHHH!!"_

Screams. Cries. Shrieks of utter, ignorant terror.

Harry looked back around and Cho had gone, mysteriously vanished. He was glad - no one would hurt her, not on purpose. She was really much better off without him, he thought stiffly.

The Order kept up their vigorous attack, tearing away at Harry as if he were their enemy, another evil, another Dark Lord … just another rotten Death Eater to be put back in his place. And it was all so _wrong_ - so unjust, so unfair! All that he'd given for them, all that he'd done. They didn't know him and they didn't want to.

Harry lashed back passively, with tight, meticulous care - weaving childish jinxes with the borderline illegal, the painful with the humorous, the flashy and the simple. The purpose only was clear in his mind - to make them stop and to make them_ learn_. He was not one to be messed with, to be taken lightly. They had made no small mistake by any means.

The fight carried on - a stunner skimmed Harry's shoulder, a hardy binding charm twisting just over his head, singing his hair. The array of multicolored lights and flashes was blinding; red and blue and yellow and green.

Seven spells collided at once against him, suddenly, and Harry's shield faltered.

James dashed towards him, just as a disarming spell came from nowhere and Harry's wand was yanked out of his hold, whizzing through the air into another's waiting outstretched palm. Growling, Harry lunged forward, tackling James onto the ground. James, forgetting his own wand, punched blindly at Harry's face, cracking a heavy fist solidly into his jaw. Harry brought an elbow crashing down onto James' stomach, winding him.

There were so many more wizards and witches, all piled forward, all against Harry.

The odds of success were impossible, surely, Harry thought. He had to get out and away, and fast too - but where was Cho? Should he leave her?

Just as another jet of spell fire spat out is his direction Harry rolled over, bringing James up in front of him. The spell hit his father's back and James was out cold.

Harry tossed the body off him, uncaring.

Without a wand Harry was ridiculously vulnerable. The shield he had erected before struggled, straining to hold up as curse after curse relentlessly slammed against it. Knowing it could give at any moment, Harry launched himself towards the nearest wand-bearing wizard, just off to his left.

In the muggle sense, Harry had never been much of a fighter. He didn't have the build and he'd never had the time, let alone the patience to hone such skills. Magic was his forte; the power he carried and dealt in plenty, with talented ease. Harry hadn't the need to learn any other way to vent but through this familiar, more powerful source. Regardless of this, Harry gave the fight his all - tooth and nail if he had to.

Leaping on top of the wizard, they both tumbled to the ground - Bill, as it was, he realized a moment later. Harry kicked and punched viciously, his aim wild and spontaneous. Bill cried out and Harry kept punching, as more and more spells collided against them both. It was the Order's own ill aimed fire that brought Bill down, finally unconscious, and Harry had jumped up again, quickly snatching up Bill's fallen wand.

The onslaught continued.

Curses, jinxes and hexes rained over his head - Harry became aware of other noises around him - the sobs of hysterical bystanders caught up in the fray, alarms ringing louder and louder and louder. A chaotic plague of fright and pain; bedlam bounded and swam about the cold, wretched station.

With a wand in his grasp again Harry let loose, forgetting his care of before - unleashing spells without thought, without reason or intent. Faster and faster and faster. About him bodies fell, but he wasn't making enough ground - the Order was too much, too many, as they continued to resurrect any witch or wizard he brought down moments from their fall. Harry needed something drastic. He needed something _more_.

The train was leaving. No one had gotten off and no one had gotten on.

Harry grinned - a thought, a distant memory, and an ancient paragraph he had read in an ancient tomb, of an ancient spell - forming itself hungrily into another small ploy. He waved his wand again in another complex series and waited impatiently.

The air buzzed. The earth began to tremble. The dirty pavement they all stood upon shook -

Harry watched, distantly concentrating to bend the spell to his own desire, morbidly fascinated as to how it would play out. He had never cast it before, although he'd wanted to since he'd first come across it - only he'd never had the proper opportunity. Harry wasn't exactly sure what it would even do, although he did believe he had a vague idea.

For a moment all was still again, like the calm before the storm.

Then it gave away.

Around Harry the earth rose up in a ring, rising high above his head. And then it flung back - pushing down, spreading out wide. In a sort of ripple effect, the pavement lost, the ground gouged out, acting like a spring.

People - wizards and witches and muggles alike - were all thrown up, flung high into the air, off of their feet. They smashed together and against one another, with a wall here and there and the thick boarded roof. And then, as gravity found itself again, they all fell back down -

They landed awkwardly, on the hard, uneven surface of the crippled floor. Bones easily cracked, broke and shattered.

More than half that had stood before didn't get up again.

Someone was clapping, and then more of the disobliging Order joined in. They were … applauding? _Applauding_ him?

They were crazy, the lot of them, Harry decided vehemently.

"Why are you here, Evans?" someone screamed. "Just to torment us?"

_Diffindo. Engorgio. Incendio._

He knew torment. He knew it's piercing vice, it's bitter grip -

"No," Harry laughed. "I thought I'd come for a holiday. I guess I was wrong?"

"How will you live with yourself, Evans?" called Vance, struggling to get up. "How can you sleep at night, knowing the difference you _could_ have made?" _Had you not been so incredibly selfish … had you not _run

It was the unspoken part that stung more than anything.

"I sleep fine, thanks," Harry ground out.

"Do you? Do you really?" Vance persisted.

Harry didn't want to answer. He didn't sleep well at all, of course. He never had. But how long had he been watched so closely? How long had he been spied upon without even knowing?

"And will _you _sleep tonight, Vance?" Harry said snidely instead. "Will you dream of the better times, the happy days?"

Vance answered with another curse, which Harry quickly dodged.

They all had their delusions. They were all - the whole bloody lot of them - in some form or another of denial.

"Can't you see how this war is tearing our world apart?" someone called. "Don't you want to see it end?"

Another few curses stopped dead in their tracks.

Harry shrugged. "I'd sooner see it continue forever than have the lesser side the victor."

"And who is your 'lesser side'? Us, or them?"

"At the moment," Harry said, "I'm really not at all sure."

That hurt - that hit the spot. The voices came back, an echo of before like a broken record -

"Damn you, Evans."

"You're wasted - "

" - wasting yourself on your own selfish needs."

" - needs of innocent others should be in consideration - "

"Consider it, just for a second? You've condemned us all - "

" - condemned to Azkaban where you'll rot, mark my words!"

Harry looked at the crippled ground. Pools of blood trickled over the pavement, running away into the gutter by the tracks.

"And where's Dumbledore, eh?" he asked the crowd, ignoring their banter, spinning away from their overzealous aim. "Where's your darling puppet-master now?" When it didn't look as though any would answer, Harry continued silkily, "Can you function without his strings, or will you all fall apart?"

He pointed his wand at the ceiling above them and closed his eyes tight.

BAM.

And then the sky began to fall.

Harry's shield protected him. The other's - a few of the Order - were not so lucky, crushed and gutted under the falling wreckage, the ruins of the roof. Harry didn't want to think of the poor muggles underneath it all - he told himself not to. Dust and ash obscured any clear vision, clouding sight and lungs and breath.

"You want me to help you?" Harry cried above it all. He could hardly hear his own voice in all the clutter of mayhem. "And what will I get in return, then?"

"What will you get?" Moody's voice repeated from somewhere behind Harry, so angry then he almost sounded like his normal gruff self of Harry's time. "How about the satisfaction of knowing you've done the _right_ thing."

"But will I have?" Harry said. "Is this right, what you're doing to me now? Do you call this justice?"

"Yes," Moody said. His teeth gritted, his tongue clamped between them. "This is survival. This is for the greater good."

"You can't guilt me away from my own choices, my path." Harry clenched his fists until they bled, dirty nails pressed clean through his palms. "Damn your Greater Good. I've been apart of that before. It's useless. It's a bloody disaster!"

The other's exchanged a glance.

"So young and so wise now, Evans?" That was James, Harry realized. That was his father, standing there before him again, swaying on his feet and clutching his broken side. "How is it that you claim to know so much?"

He hadn't spotted his mother. He thought Sirius might have gone down in the first tumble from the ceiling, but he wasn't sure.

Harry laughed, bringing up his old facade again. "I know more than you could imagine, James Potter."

James looked skeptical. His face was ghostly white, blood trickling down the side of his head. "Oh, really?" he asked.

"I know of your past, your childhood," Harry began. "Your marriage and your career. Prongs, they used to call you." Their gaze met, distant and cold. "I know," Harry said, and his eyes sought Wormtail - but the rat was not present then either. "I know of your spies. I know of the leak that everyday drains your precious Order." Harry laughed.

If his magic could not conquer them, his knowledge would. And his last card, his greatest bluff?

"I know," Harry told them, his voice low as a theatric whisper, his eyes level and glaring straight ahead, "everything."

_I know everything?_

There was silence for a short pause. Harry held his breath, wondering if they were unsure or insane or desperate enough to believe it - and, amazingly enough, they were.

They were? They really did believe Harry's ridiculous claim, they really did think it possible for him to know _everything_? Harry laughed and laughed, and once he started he just couldn't stop.

Who the hell did they think he was? _God_?

More spells, deadlier than before, were exchanged aggressively between the parties. It was hard to get about in all the debris, the uplifted pavement greatly limiting any movement.

_Crucio. _

Was that a Cruciatus?

They'd done it, then, Harry realized. One had done the unforgivable. They had crossed the line, finally - at last - inviting Harry to do the same. And Harry laughed again - it had been Moody. _Of course._ Perfect.

Harry shook his head, grinning wickedly. "Tut tut," he murmured. "Why - don't you want me alive and kicking?"

"At this point," one answered for the old Auror, staunchly accepting and supporting the breach of law, "I for one really couldn't give a shit if it was solely your head brought back on a silver bloody platter."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said. "Two can play at that game, you know."

"This is not a game, Evans!"

"No," Harry agreed solemnly. "Games have rules."

And they started at him again - the blue and yellow quickly shrinking back to a storm of angry red and brilliant green.

_Crucio and Crucio and Crucio. _

All he saw was black and all he felt was that burning, dimly memorable pain of his past.

Suddenly the Order had got the better of him again.

Suddenly it was all too much.

Suddenly he'd lost Bill's wand.

Harry's knees buckled, giving way beneath him. He struggled to get up again, pushing his disobliging muscles to operate.

And just like that, suddenly they all stopped -

"Give it up, Evans," a cold voice chided, simpering, taunting and mean.

Harry looked up to see Moody glowering above him, his atrocious face a contorted scowl-turned-grin.

Moody held his wand - Harry's wand he had lost before - between his two knobby, bloody fingers. He held his wand, laughed, and bent it clean in two.

As it snapped, broken apart, Harry's anger collapsed about his ears. In that moment he felt all the strength leave him, fleeing through his veins - he was drained, an empty hollow, useless as he most hated to be. And then, in a tense, thrashing jolt - it all came back tenfold.

Oh, Harry was _mad_ - very, very mad.

There were five left then. Five wizards, circling him like a pack would its prey. Five wands, trained on his heart.

Harry closed his eyes, gathering patience, energy and resolve.

He was a wizard - a bloody _wizard_, for fucks sake. And there was magic in _him_, in his own mortal soul. Magic he simply had to reach for, bring out from inside. Harry didn't think of its impossibility; he ignored his own incredulity, he ignored all he'd ever been taught, pressed down hard upon his own logic and reason. It would work. Of course it would.

More spells broke through the air, hissing in fiery hate - five spells, a star shape, colliding at the same point, just where Harry pushed himself up again to stand, then -

He didn't raise a hand.

He didn't batter an eyelash.

Harry just smiled.

The air around him became thick and heavy. Harry's vision blurred. The fabric of magic stretched to his will, bending around his body, threads unwoven from time and space. He didn't understand what he was doing or how it was working - he didn't care.

Five spells, five spheres of tightly compressed magic, stopped around him in mid air, hovering still.

One Order member, a buxom blonde, dropped her wand and ran.

The remaining four froze like rabbits -

Harry's concentration wavered for a second and the spells died, falling from the air onto the ground, wasted.

The last of the Order seemed unsure of what to do, or what they _could_ do. Taking lead of the blonde, all but old Mad-Eye turned tail and scampered - Harry summoned a wand from a fallen wizard beside him, wishing he had thought to do that a lot sooner. He grinned again with resolute satisfaction, though there was blood in his mouth, between his teeth and on his lips, as he brought Moody down hard and fast. The Auror didn't even twitch. And, as each made their own attempt to escape him, Harry hit the last three in their retreating backs.

He needed time. He couldn't have them fetching the Ministry so soon.

Finally the last was down.

Harry swayed, his limbs shaking. Sirens wailed over his head as muggle police officers clambered onto the scene. Harry couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend that any of it had happened - he was in shock, numb to all around him.

Where was he to go? What was he to do?

Clutching his chest painfully, Harry backed away - right into the path of another bloody wand, pushing neatly into the base of his throat.

Heaving a shuddered breath, Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't be bothered - he'd just had enough.

"Who's that?" Harry asked softly.

"I'm sorry, Hadi."

He knew the voice - Cho. He'd almost forgotten about her the minute she's so suddenly disappeared.

"Don't do it," he began quickly, but it was already too late - a simple stunner lapsed past his weltering shield, slamming cold into his chest.

"You don't get it, do you?" Cho asked, grabbing hold of his sinking shoulders, turning him to face her. She leant forward, pressing against him, whispering in his ear, "How do you think you came to even _be_ here?" Her voice was deathly quiet. "We brought you, Hadi. We _bought_ you to help us, to fight for us, to _win_ for us."

And the words of the prophecy came back to him -

… _called down by those whom know him not …_

Could it be? Could that really be true? Harry groaned as a sheet of darkness broke over his body - and then there was nothing … nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming darkness and his own treacherous thoughts left for comfort.

Harry was livid; humiliated, betrayed, exposed. And when he woke up, he'd let them all know it.

When he woke up, he'd see them pay. He'd _make_ them pay.

**...pppqqq...**

A/N: Well, then. My greatest apologies for the ridiculous wait! I will try my best to get the next out much, much faster. Thanks for reading, as always :) Reviews are appreciated. xxoo.


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